


Revenge is a Ruthless Business

by Hitomi_Zotz



Category: Mafia (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Mafia III, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-07-03 22:15:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 55,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15828000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hitomi_Zotz/pseuds/Hitomi_Zotz
Summary: In the middle of the bayou John finds a hitchiker running from the Ensanglante, against his better nature he picks her up and unleashes Pandora's Box. This hitchiker, Theresa Navarro is friends with Anna McGee, a troubled woman Lincoln has just rescued but she also has a murky and violent past with Lincoln that he can't remember and her lunatic brothers, the Navarro assassin squad are determined to keep it that way. When the Ensanglante make it clear that Theresa and Anna aren't getting out of this alive and neither is anyone who helps them, Lincoln and his Underbosses decide it has to be war.With Marcano tightening his hold on New Bordeaux do Lincoln and John really have the time to be getting involved with the Ensanglante? And what is the dark secret the Navarro family seems determined to take to their graves?





	1. Shouldn't Have Stopped

The air was heavy with the heat, coming moist through the air vents and carrying the obnoxious odour of the swamp with it. John Donovan puffed fast at his cigarette in an attempt to block the stench of mud with the familiar scent of smoke. He loathed New Bordeaux, the entire city was sticky and sullied like an overripe plum. If it wasn't for loyalty he wouldn't bother suffering it but he liked Lincoln Clay and he loved his country besides, it wasn't quite as bad as the humidity of Vietnam.

The CIA agent looked at the seemingly eternal dirt road ahead wearily. New Bordeaux was a shit hole but the Bayou was definitely where the worst of the shit piled up. It was a mass of territory that was actually more liquid than land, made of steaming swamp, dying trees, bushes and broken down huts. The only gangsters who attempted to make use of it were the inbred idiots hopped up on drugs and moonshine and even they did little with it. Trying to find a purpose in the swamp was futile which was exactly why it made it a good place to setup a C.I.A safe house, in this case Pedro Pan. A former distillery it now served as a facility for traffic decoding and data sorting between the USA and the Caribbean a.k.a Cuba. John was just returning from there, he didn't like to frequent it too often given he was acting off the books now but it was a handy place for information and he had needed to get some on Frank Pagani's dealings in Cuba.

A hand appeared out of the shadows from the right, in the form of a thumbs up it flashed white with a sheen of red in the headlights.

“Shit!” John's foot slammed hard on the brakes and the car's tyres screeched threateningly on the dirt road. John spun the wheel hard and fast trying to keep control and simultaneously avoid the pedestrian who had appeared from nowhere. The car halted at an angle mere inches from the would be hitch-hiker. 

John glanced out his windshield at the figure illuminated before him, it was hard to see much when insects and mud had coated his headlights. He sucked on his cigarette as he gazed out at what appeared to be a young, bloody, dishevelled woman and mulled over his next decision. Curiosity won out and he rolled down his window.

John seized up his pistol just in case, leaned out into the disgusting night air with the gun aimed and called rudely, “who the fuck are you?”

The woman squinted as she leaned to the side to peer past the lights at John. “Can you please help me?” she called back anxiously. “Please, they're coming.”

John rolled his blue eyes wearily as he contemplated driving on. He doubted this was a robbery attempt, her accomplices would have jumped out by now and he could hear the blood dripping from her proving her wounds were real enough. In fact the dripping seemed quite fast prompting him to wonder just how bad the wounds were, he didn't want to end up with a dead girl in his car.

BANG! A shotgun sounded from somewhere in the darkness.

“Please mister,” the woman begged. Her voice was quiet as if she feared betraying her presence to someone nearby. John didn't see the point in that, his car engine was still running, hell he hadn't even turned off the radio and the music of The Animals was heading off in the night air to entertain the alligators and the hicks.

“Shit, fine,” John grumbled. He unlocked the passenger door.

The woman hastened round, not as fast as John would like as she was laboured by a limp. Another shot echoed through the skies followed by the low baying of a hound. “Is this the fucking moors?” John quipped sardonically as he flicked his spent cigarette out the window and wound it up. “Where's Sherlock when you need him?” 

The passenger door opened and the young woman climbed in before closing the door as quietly as she could manage.

John glanced at her with a measure of disgust as she smeared blood onto the creamy leather interior. “I hope you don't die on me,” he muttered, “that would be a pain to clean up.”

She sagged into the seat and looked ahead calmly. “Mister you got something to help with the pain? Maybe I'll not die if you do.”

John sighed.

There was a loud bang and a crack as the head of a woodcutter's axe became embedded in the orange bonnet of the car. John followed the handle of the axe up to its owner and his eyes widened with a measure of alarm. “Holy fuck,” he mouthed out. There was a man before him wearing a wooden, horned mask and for all the world appeared like a deranged killer.

John hit reverse and slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The car squealed into life as the wheels spun up dirt before the car sped away from them psycho. John pushed the car into forward and spun the wheel again, gritting his teeth as he tried to manoeuvre the car hard and fast away from the madman. 

BANG!

Glass shattered through the air and a loud ringing filled John's ears as the pellets of a shotgun created a hole in the windshield before embedding themselves in the metal bodywork of the back of the car. John didn't look, he just hit the accelerator hard and aimed the car straight.

BANG!

The next shot went wild as the Potomac Independent hurried along the path leaving the masked assailants in the shadows where they belonged. John was quiet and edgy for a few minutes as he followed the road, keeping his eyes peeled for anymore crazies. “Knew I shouldn't have stopped,” he muttered to himself as he followed a bend to the left and headed onto what passed as a main road out here.

“Well I'm glad you did,” the woman piped up. “Now, you got something for the pain?”

John glanced her way, her pallor was grey but she smiled, a bloody teethed ugly smile. “Best I've got is cigarettes and bourbon,” he retorted in annoyance. “In the glove compartment, try not to get blood on it. Get me a cigarette too and a God damn explanation.”

The woman nodded as she leaned forward to reach for the glove compartment. She tugged it open, pulled out the dented pack of cigarettes and the tin hip flask and closed it again.

John wrinkled his nose in revulsion as the scents of swampland seeping in through his mostly missing windshield. “That smell is rancid,” he complained. 

The woman opened up the flask and took a deep gulp before let out a relieved sigh. “That's good,” she murmured before waving it in John's direction. “You want some?”

John snatched it off her with a scowl. “Do I want some? After that shit, yeah I want some.” He took a deep gulp before thrusting it back to her. The bourbon was weak and it did nothing to numb the shock.

The woman closed it up and placed the flask back in the compartment before plucking out the cigarettes at last.

“Hurry up with that,” John ordered, “the smell is killing me, I can taste the mud out there.” He snatched the cigarette she offered quickly and then waited impatiently for her to light it. The lighter clicked twice prompting John to glance her way again. Her hands were cut, one finger was purple with bruising suggesting a breakage, and red ligature marks at her wrists hinted at her being tied up. John released the wheel to snap up the lighter and light his cigarette briskly before he took the wheel up with one hand again. He looked to the woman pointedly and clicked the lighter. She leaned forward with the cigarette waiting in her mouth. Her bottom lip was cut and old brown blood stained her philtrum. 

For a brief moment the pair just smoked as the car conquered a rickety wooden bridge and several more twists and turns. A battered metal sign promised an end to the Bayou soon and a main road to River Row.

The woman leaned back in her seat and blew smoke up to the roof. “I'm Theresa,” she introduced at last. Her voice was taut with pain yet she remained calm. “Last night I was out with my friend Anna at a nightclub.” She took a deep draw on the cigarette before breathing the smoke up to the roof again. “They took her but I'm going to get her back,” she said confidently.

“Right, well that explains nothing,” John grumbled. “How about you tell me who put a dent in my car and how you went from a nightclub to hailing down a car in the fucking swamps?”

Theresa shrugged. “Shit happens. I think my leg's bleeding pretty badly, you think you could get me to River Row?”

John glanced at her with surprise before gesturing ahead with one hand. “Isn't it your lucky day, we're heading to River Row,” he remarked sardonically. “Course I could just stop the car right now and let you walk it, I mean I don't owe you a road trip.”

Theresa nodded back tiredly. “Yeah, true. I'm grateful but I don't know what to say. Truth is mister I don't know, my ears keep ringing, my head's fuzzy and I can't remember a whole lot.”

“Right,” John muttered sullenly even as he hit the highway to River Row. “Should I head for a hospital?”

“No mister, River Row,” she retorted sleepily. She groaned as John leaned over to give her a rough shake with his hand.

“No sleeping and no more mister,” the agent snapped at her. “You pass out there you might not wake up and I am not trying to dispose of a corpse at this hour.”

“It wouldn't be hard,” she retorted carelessly as she leaned against the door, “lots of water in River Row, just toss me off the docks.”

“You got a death wish?” he quipped dryly.

“Just trying to be practical for you mister, oops, no more mister.”

“John, call me John.” He figured his first name was okay, she was a nobody and John was all too common, it wasn't like she'd suddenly figure out he was an AWOL C.I.A agent working with criminals.

“Mmm.”

He gave her another rough shake before turning the radio up. “Where are we going to in River Row?” he demanded.

“Drop me anywhere, just need a phone,” she muttered. “Hmm could you maybe lend me ten cents too now that we're friends John?” She grinned, careful not to show her bloody teeth this time.

“I really wish I hadn't stopped,” John retorted flatly.

“I wish I hadn't gotten abducted from a nightclub, this outfit really wasn't practical for fleeing through a swamp in.”

John glanced her way again. All he'd bothered to take in was that she was stained in muck and blood, bleeding heavily from her right leg which had a sloppy tourniquet around it and barefoot. She had a pleated mini skirt on, its colours lost beneath stains and a tight fitted, long sleeved top, the right sleeve was torn and hanging off exposing scratches and bruises.

John resumed looking at the road and smoking. He figured it was his own fault, no sane person was going to be flagging down a car in the bayou at night, logic dictated she had to be crazy but he'd stopped anyway. 

–-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The smell of simmering gumbo intertwined with the odour of fresh fish filled the kitchen. The chef, Vito Scaletta, stepped up to the pot to add the final ingredient- filé powder. He stirred it in and took a sip before muttering a curse and lifting the pot to serve. Vito carried the pot in two hands through the push door and out to the impatiently waiting guests in the dining area of the closed restaurant, stepping into the last remnants of sunlight as he did. The day had been hot and sticky like many before it, a heat he still wasn't accustomed to and rarely enjoyed, and the heat of the kitchen had ensured he was soaked with sweat. 

Vito's second in command Alma Diaz glanced at the pot apprehensively but she wisely didn't say a word.

Vito's other guest Lincoln Clay eyed it eagerly. The young would be avenger hadn't tasted much of Vito's cooking and still couldn't accept Vito the gangster as Vito the chef. Rarely pausing for a decent meal, Lincoln took food out of need not pleasure. 

Vito placed the pot in the centre of the table and dished out generous portions of the gumbo over the plates of waiting hot rice. The rice was clumped together, neither rinsed nor cooked enough but no one was daring to comment on it. Alma had long given up asking Vito why the fuck he kept trying to make gumbo when he was terrible at it.

Vito sat down after he served up his own portion, feeling just a hint of relief to finally get his ass to a seat. Alright it was a hard backed one in need of reupholstering but it beat standing. He wondered dryly if he would ever bother fixing up the restaurant again. Truth was now that Lincoln had given him a new purpose he didn't want to build up his life in River Row again and risk becoming stagnant in the poor part of the city. The worst thing Vito could do was become settled in this shit hole. Better to aim for something better and bigger than to just accept his lot and try to improve it.

The Italian-American scooped up a generous helping of gumbo with his spoon and prepared to take his first bite when he heard the screech of wheels and caught the flash of headlights. He, Alma and Lincoln were already on their feet with their guns out when the door of the restaurant burst open and the bell chimed with it.

“Jesus Bobby you want to try knocking for a change?” Vito scorned as he frowned at the arrival and lowered his gun.

Bobby 'Ducks' Navarro was a gangster best described as fearless with a side of insane. At six feet two he was an intimating presence, loud mouthed, cocky and brash, those who weren't scared off by his height or wild yelling usually realised how dangerous the man was when they caught a glimpse of his eyes. When Ducks got you in his sight for death his eyes seemed to empty of emotion, turning into two perfect pools of nothing before he shot you down, often in a spray of bullets with a shriek to accompany it. He headed the Navarro hit squad, New Bordeaux's answer to Murder Inq, it was supported by Bobby's brothers, each of whom seemed crazier than the last brother.

Bobby looked from his boss to Lincoln before turning a wary stare back on Vito. Bobby didn't really get Lincoln's place in their world, few in the city did, but as long as Vito told Bobby to help Lincoln he would without question. “Vito I'm sorry,” he said quickly in an accent that was a hybrid of Southern and Italian, “but I've got trouble.”

Vito folded his arms and sighed as he sat down and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, what trouble can't wait until after dinner?” he quipped sardonically.

Bobby read on Vito's face that he was pissed but he couldn't feel apologetic, his need was too great. “My sister Tess has gone missing,” Bobby explained hastily.

Lincoln glanced over his shoulder at the assassin with surprise. “You guys have a sister?” he marvelled. “What's she like?” 

The last time Bobby's squad had joined Lincoln one of the brothers had opted for using grenades in a warehouse full of TNT, whooping and hollering with glee at each explosion, even the one that singed off his eyebrows. Sometimes Lincoln wondered if they were a hindrance more than a help. He had to admit though the Navarro siblings were fearless.

“Fucking crazy,” Alma snapped with a look of derision. She was torn between being annoyed by the disturbance or pleased by it as it was the perfect excuse to avoid eating Vito's idea of gumbo.

“Good,” Lincoln retorted brightly as he gave her a pleased smirk from across the table, “in that family I'd be more worried if she wasn't.”

“What do you mean missing?” Vito queried calmly. He glanced at Alma curiously as he wondered about this female Navarro sibling. He'd met her a few times but didn't exactly know her, she was a lot younger than him and Bobby, somewhat of a surprise to their mother who'd died shortly after giving birth to her. Vito had some misty flashback of a sly eyed girl with brunette waves, running around with the Irish boys exchanging kisses for whiskey and always giving her family grief.

“No one has seen her since yesterday,” Bobby explained, “she was meant to meet Tommy for breakfast today but she never showed. She can be unreliable but not with Tommy.”

Lincoln pondered quietly which brother Tommy was and recalled Bobby swearing at a light brown haired youth he'd called Tommaso who'd gotten trigger happy and clipped the ear of a cop during one of their gun fights resulting in an unpleasant road chase from the law.

“Alright,” Vito reassured, “I'll put out the word around River Row.” Seeing Bobby's worried stare he sighed and added, “and I'll help with the search.” He looked at the uneaten dishes accusingly. “Apparently no one's hungry anyway.”

As Vito stood the restaurant's main phone let out an unpleasant rattling chime. “Who the fuck is calling here?” Vito pondered aloud with a mystified look at the phone. Anyone who wanted him dialled his office not the business. He headed over to it, answering after the fourth ring.

“Is Lincoln there?” a brash male's voice demanded.

“Hello to you,” Vito retorted sarcastically. His dark gaze looked to Lincoln meaningfully. These days someone looking for the youth usually meant trouble.

“Yeah I don't have time for small talk,” the voice retorted hotly. “Is he there?”

“You'd better make time if you want him,” Vito snapped back.

“Tell him it's an old army friend with an emergency.”

Vito covered the mouth piece with his hand and held the phone to one side. “An old army buddy wants you kid,” he said to Lincoln.

Lincoln looked surprised as he stood. He stepped up to the phone, mindful as to how Vito lingered close when he took it. “Who's this?”

“Lincoln thank God,” John's voice exclaimed, “I thought that wop bastard was going to keep yanking my chain. Listen I'm in River Row and I've got a little problem.”

“Yeah I'm listening,” Lincoln retorted bluntly. He was conscious of the volume of John's voice, judging by Vito's scowl he'd definitely heard 'wop bastard'. Hell, knowing John he'd probably meant Vito to hear him.

“I picked up a hitch-hiker in the Bayou, big mistake, now she's passed out in my car bleeding all over the seats. Hospital is two districts over and I think they'd be asking questions anyway. Some freak show with a mask was chasing her. I'm fifty-fifty over ditching in her alleyway, might've done it too if I didn't remember you were the area and how you like to be chivalrous.”

Lincoln could hear John taking rapid puffs on his cigarette, it was a common betrayal of his nerves and Lincoln knew that high-strung nerves usually led to bad decisions, it was true for everyone but for John it meant murder brought about with his quick temper. “Where are you at?” he queried carefully.

“Gas station, five blocks north of Vito's fish kingdom,” he sneered. “Shouldn't have stopped for her, she wanted to come to River Row, probably got friends here but not like I can find them, sure in a couple of days time but not right now. I don't know a damn thing about her except her name. Theresa, you know any Theresas Lincoln?”

Lincoln saw the surprise that filled Vito's eyes before he masked it. “No but maybe someone else does. Sit tight, I'm on my way.” Lincoln hung up the phone.

“Hell of a coincidence,” Vito murmured darkly.

Lincoln shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not, better seeing her first to confirm, right?”

Vito nodded as he turned his attention to the anxious looking Bobby. “Well Ducks your sister might have just turned up,” he explained, “time to go find out.”

Bobby gawked at Vito in disbelief before his dark grey eyes filled with suspicion as he looked to Lincoln. “Who was on the phone?” he demanded.

“A friend,” Lincoln answered quickly, “not a captor, he found a woman out in the Bayou, could be your sister but I'm not promising anything. He's the gas station five blocks from here, let's go, I'll drive.”

“Yeah I'm coming too,” Vito said sternly, “Alma close up.”

Alma tossed her hands up in the air and murmured sardonically, “sure leave the woman to clean.”

Lincoln led the way out first, hastening out to the sedan he'd picked purposely to be low key. He didn't really want to speed in it and risk the police taking a note of it, better to do that in a flashy car he didn't mind them getting the details of but he wasn't going to suggest Vito or Bobby drive instead. He unlocked the car, got in and started up the engine as Vito took the seat beside him and Bobby occupied the back reluctantly.

It didn't take long for Lincoln to reach the gas station, maybe ten minutes tops but it felt like longer with Bobby complaining about his lack of speed and his cowardice when it came to jumping lights beside police cars. There were a couple of cars sitting at the station but none Lincoln recognised as John's. Spying the man in the shadows of the station by the phone he filled with a slight unease as he turned off the engine.

“Give me a minute,” Lincoln ordered the Italians sternly. He got out of the car and hurried over to John.

John was leaning against the wall puffing away at a cigarette looking fed up. His white shirt bore a couple of bloodstains but they were exterior and he had no visible wounds.

“John where's the girl?” Lincoln queried with a look of confusion.

“Hey Lincoln, glad you could come,” John greeted sarcastically. “You don't think someone would call the cops if I pulled up here with my windshield shot out and a bloody girl in the front seat?” he sneered. He took a deep final puff of smoke before tossing the remains of the cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out with his foot. “Lincoln what's with those guys?” he quipped calmly as he gestured one hand forward, pointing at the two men behind Lincoln.

Lincoln glanced over his shoulder at Vito and Bobby, of course they hadn't stayed in the car.

“What, you don't need the help of the wop bastard king of the fishes?” Vito snarled back bitingly.

“Aha ha,” John let out a slightly nervous laugh. His baby blues darted up to Lincoln accusingly. “Say Lincoln why have you brought your friends to play? We're not making pizza here.”

“Stop yanking chains,” Lincoln scolded him half-heartedly in a deep, quiet voice. “They think they know the girl you've found, where is she?”

John stepped away from the wall and let out a heavy sigh. “Of course they do, damn it I knew I should have just kept driving. This way gentlemen.” He waved them on with his left hand before walking away from the gas station. 

They crossed the road and headed to an unlit alleyway where John's damaged car was abandoned to the shadows. A glow of orange hinted at life in the passenger seat. John hurried up to the passenger door and looked in with surprise before yanking the door open. “You're awake!” he exclaimed. “And stealing my cigarettes.”

Theresa took a draw before letting it out too soon with a few sudden coughs. “Shit, sorry, couldn't help it. Didn't think you were coming back.”

“I thought you'd passed out,” John admitted.

“Yeah when you hit that speed bump rather hard it jostled one of wounds, saw stars for a few minutes that's all,” she explained.

“Tessie!” Bobby shouted out in both disbelief and relief before he shoved John out of the way ungracefully.

John staggered back on the stone road with a curse before he righted himself against the wall. “There's gratitude,” he grumbled as he smoothed down the sleeves of his tan blazer.  
Bobby crouched down beside the open door and leaned into his sister anxiously. “Shit look at you, what happened? Who did this?” he demanded angrily.

Lincoln winced a little to hear the violent madness Bobby was infamous for slipping into his voice.

Bobby gripped the woman's right shoulder and pulled her up slightly. “You've got a powder burn on your shoulder! Were you shot at?”

“A few times,” she admitted casually. “Bit too before you ask, gator, fucking hurt.”

“Did she just say a gator bit her?” Lincoln repeated as he looked at Vito in surprise.

“Sounded like it,” Vito retorted coolly. He was wearing an expression of indifference, unsure what to think about what was going on.

“Yeah she's real calm about it all,” John informed them as he stepped over to Lincoln. “Don't know if it's blood loss or craziness.”

“Craziness,” Vito and Lincoln answered together.

John raised his eyebrows slightly as he looked at the pair. “How do you know her?”

“I don't,” Lincoln retorted.

“You need a hospital,” Bobby said sternly.

“Nope,” Theresa dismissed quickly, “not going there. They'll look there, cops will only ask questions too. Nope.”

“You are bleeding from a gator bite for fuck's sake, don't argue about it. Damn you're pale, how much blood have you lost?” Bobby looked at the blood pooling on the seat below her with worry.

“A good bit but I tied it up well, gotta thank Ren for the first aid training,” she retorted tiredly. “Really need this thing stitched up. No hospital Roberto please.”

Bobby gritted his teeth and scowled. “Using full titles eh? That's my thing you know.”

She gave a bloodstained smile at this. “I know. Now, pay my new friend John for the taxi service and get me somewhere safe and dry.”

Bobby stood upright and looked Vito's way. “Vito?”

Vito nodded. “You can bring her to mine.”

“What about my car?” John quipped with an angry stare at Bobby.

Bobby reached for his wallet and plucked out a wad of cash. “Here, this should cover it,” he said as he offered it out.

John snatched the money off the man with a frown. “Yeah, sure but right now what do I do?”

“I'll call up Connor,” Lincoln offered, “get him and some of the boys to come down and sort it. You can wait for them or you can come with us but you'll have to squeeze in the back.”

John glanced over at Theresa as Bobby lifted her out of the car. She gave some colourful curses as she attempted to stand, leaning against her brother for support.

“You're too tall Bobby,” she chided.

Bobby was leaning down as much as he could to hold up Theresa. “It has its advantages,” he retorted.

“I'm going to tag along and see how this plays out,” John decided. “I'd still like to know why a man with an axe took a grievance to my car.”

“That is a good question,” Lincoln agreed. “Maybe he was a Commie,” he joked. The jest was worth the glower he got in response. He moved over to Theresa, offering a hand out to help.

The young woman looked up at him with wide eyes and let out a soft gasp. “Damn is it really you?” she marvelled. “Or is my blood loss worse than I think.”

Lincoln blinked down at her in puzzlement, unsure what to say. “Lincoln Clay,” he introduced, “can I help you?”

She nodded. “I know your name. You don't recognise me, do you?”

Lincoln shook his head and glanced up at Bobby, he appeared just as confused. “I didn't even know the Navarros had a sister.”

Theresa let out a laugh, doubling over with a wince as it turned to coughs of pain.

Lincoln bent down and wrapped an arm about her waist in support. “Come on now, let's get you to the car,” he suggested.

Theresa shook her head as she limped forward. “Danny said you didn't remember, I just figured you didn't want to.”

Lincoln winced to hear Danny's name mentioned, it was hard to think on him or Ellis or Sammy without feeling a blazing rush of anger coupled with a heated desire for revenge. When Marcano was dead then he would try to remember them fondly but right now all each name conjured was a violent flashback of their deaths. Lincoln couldn't understand what Theresa meant or why she sounded so sad. It filled him with unease, there was a conviction in her voice too but he was certain he didn't know her. Theresa Navarro, the name didn't ring any bells. Sure she seemed around his age, maybe a little older, but that didn't mean much. She was a white Italian-American, not the type to be running in his circles.

“So who knows her again?” John demanded sarcastically.


	2. A Family Matter

Lincoln didn't know how to feel about having all the Navarro siblings in such close proximity. In his experience it usually meant loud noises and death. It didn't help that one, Tommy, was carrying a shotgun as casually as a caddy carrying a golfclub and another, Renzio, was holding a tommy gun with a carelessness that made Lincoln a tad nervous.

“You know I'm not sure how to feel about your new circle of friends,” John murmured quietly.

“Me either,” Lincoln confessed grimly.

The pair were standing on the wooden docks at the back of Vito's restaurant gazing out at the wide stretch of inky black water. The stars were lost behind a haze of light pollution and it still felt like night even though it was two in the morning. The air remained unpleasantly humid but it was tempered with the fresh salty scent of the waters, which Lincoln appreciated even if John didn't.

“Wow and you don't even protest the term friend,” John mocked. “I'm hurt that the word means so little to you.”

Lincoln looked over at the blonde. For a while he'd figured John to be his only true friend these days but that wasn't fair on Nicki Burke, somewhat a kindred spirit of his in her grief and anger and he didn't know how to regard Vito. The Italian mob man was an underboss of Lincoln's just like Nicki's father Thomas Burke, and Cassandra, voodoo queen of the Haitians but Lincoln couldn't quite hold him in the same low, distant regard he held the other two in. Maybe it was because Vito had fought in a war too. Maybe it was because Vito was bitter but without the irrationality Cassandra possessed or the despair that haunted Burke. Hell, maybe it was simply because when Lincoln called round to talk, Vito opened the door and started cooking, making Lincoln feel welcome instead of an imposition.

Cassandra always addressed Lincoln heatedly and made it clear he was a necessary irritation to her. She would never forget how Lincoln had wiped out many of her people and she placed a heavy weight on their racial connection. Burke welcomed him verbally but every time Lincoln arrived at his door Burke's gaze would fill with sorrow and he would reach for a beer. Lincoln knew Burke couldn't help it, Lincoln just kept reminding him of his dead son Danny.

“You know you're my nearest and dearest,” Lincoln commented teasingly to the blonde agent.

John laughed at this. “Alright, so tell me, what's with Theresa, Tessa, Tessie, who gives a fuck, in there? She knows you.”

Lincoln turned his gaze just a little over his shoulder to the warm glow of the restaurant. Bobby was guarding the front door and his brother Quinn was pacing near the stairs and giving Lincoln a wary stare. Renzio and Tommy were upstairs with Vito and Theresa. Lincoln couldn't recall knowing any of the brothers before he'd met Vito and he was quite certain he had never met Theresa before tonight yet something nagged at him saying that this was wrong but he couldn't figure it out.

“I don't know about that, how would she?” Lincoln retorted as he glanced over at John.

“Same city, same age group,” John replied calmly, “I mean she mentioned a Danny, would that be Danny Burke?”

Lincoln shrugged. “I don't know man. I mean she's a Navarro, not easy to forget one of them.”

“Well that's true,” John agreed. He was annoyed, intel got him a lot on people but on the Navarro family he didn't know more than the obvious and he couldn't recall anything about a sister. Of course he hadn't dug too deeply into them because Lincoln had never asked him to and he didn't exactly have the time when he was trying to gather information on Marcano's lieutenants.

“So, what about you, what do you know about her? Why did you stop for her?” Lincoln pried. “And don't say chivalry, that's not in you.”

“Right, I torture women and you won't,” John said blithely with a laugh that made Lincoln's skin crawl just a little.

Lincoln got it, it was laugh or cry, either accept what they'd done in the war in the name of country and peace, or wallow in the grief and guilt. He didn't have to like it though. It was funny but he'd thought he had risked his morals in the war, he had never considered the real war would be here in New Bordeaux, that his humanity and sanity would be tested far more here than in Vietnam. 

John threw his hands up in the air. “I was curious,” he said loudly, “I admit it. My one weakness, always trying to learn about people.”

“One weakness?” Lincoln sneered with a shake of his head. “Man you chain-smoke and you drink like a fish.”

John laughed and shared a smile with his friend. “Fish jokes, too easy here. Hey, Vito seemed to like his new title, think he'll thank me for it?”

Lincoln shook his head. “Be thankful Vito let you keep your head on your shoulders.”

A dog started barking from a pen somewhere within the cluster of terrace houses in River Row. Curious or frustrated, another dog answered.

The scream that followed from within Vito's building was unexpected. It was a wild shriek that seemed to be followed by a wail of the word 'no'.

Lincoln and John scrambled for their guns as they turned around and glanced upwards as if they could see the cause. The noise came from upstairs and was answered by Italian voices. Bobby remained at the door though he kept glancing over at Quinn who was shouting up the stairs.

Lincoln ran round the deck to the outer wooden steps that led upstairs. There was a guard at the bottom of the stairs and another at the top, both had their guns out and were staring up to the door into Vito's chambers. Lincoln realised he'd heard no warning shots or yelling, it couldn't be an attacker then but why the scream? Had Theresa's wound reopened or something?

Lincoln hurried up the steps and past the puzzled guards who were only too happy to let him through if only because they wanted an end to the racket. Lincoln headed in with his gun still drawn just in case. He arrived at the ajar door to Vito's office where Vito was exchanging heated Italian words with Renzio and gesturing downwards. Lincoln followed Vito's hand to where Tommy sat on the ground cradling Theresa against him.

“It's alright passero, it's just a dumb pet wanting attention, it's not a hunter,” Tommy soothed.

The youngest Navarro brother demonstrated a tenderness Lincoln hadn't thought him capable of. He supported his sister on his crossed legs and hugged her gently into his chest, rocking her back and forth as if she was a baby to be quietened.

“No,” Theresa slurred back, “the devil barks you know.”

John smiled approvingly at the half-empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the floor beside them. “Are you trying to dull all sense of feeling?” he quipped sardonically. “I think that amount would cover the pain and then some.”

Lincoln realised when she whimpered that he could still hear the dogs barking outside. 

“Alligator bite, nothing, someone shooting at her, nothing, masked man with an axe, nothing,” John rhymed off as he gestured a finger outwards with each phrase, “dog barking, now we have hysterics.”

“Bark, bark,” Theresa murmured, “ssshhhh doggie, go the fuck away.” She shook her left hand in a gesture of waving something off.

“Drunk hysterics,” John corrected himself with a smug smile.

“What's wrong with her?” Lincoln pried as he looked from Tommy, who ignored his presence, to Renzio who appeared sullen and was looking to John in irritation. It was in Renzio that Lincoln saw the familiarity to Theresa, both had the same cunning grey gaze, sharp noses and poignant cheekbones that gave them a look both attractive and feral like a wolf.  
“I asked the same question,” Vito said bluntly as he folded his arms and frowned down at the woman, “but I haven't got an answer yet.”

Renzio stepped away from them, heading for the top of the stairs. “It's those damn dogs!” he called down. “All that barking, silence them!”

“Hey just a minute,” Vito snapped as he hurried over to Renzio. “You guys aren't going shooting up some neighbourhood dogs just because your sister doesn't like the barking!”

Theresa tugged away from Tommy and raised one finger to her lips in a hush motion as she looked up at Vito with an accusing, unfocused gaze. “Shhh everyone can hear you, there's no need, noisy, noisy. The dogs hear too good, they're shouting to each other, commun-nee-kat-in,” she sounded the word out sternly in a thick Southern accent. “Maybe they know where Anna went.” She shuddered. “God I hope they don't know, they'll eat her.”

The dogs continued to bark and Theresa let out an angry shriek. “God damn it shut up wolves!”

“It's a little more than doesn't like the barking,” John mused sarcastically.

Lincoln crouched down so that he was level with Tommy and Theresa. Tommy gave him a thin smile as he pulled his sister back against him. “The barking triggers something, doesn't it?” Lincoln pried. He understood that, one little noise, maybe even a scent or sight and suddenly there was a rush of vivid, unpleasant memories trying to drown you. PTSD was what the army doctors had called it. 

Tommy nodded as he patted his sister on the head lightly.

“Maybe she just needs to hear something else,” Lincoln suggested. He stood upright and glanced about the office. “Vito you got a radio or something?”

“Downstairs,” Vito grumbled back, “in the kitchen.” Seeing Lincoln's look he cursed and snapped, “alright I'll get it but it'd better stop the shrieking, I don't want to listen to both.” He headed past Renzio and down the stairs to the waiting Quinn.

“No dog hunting,” Vito snapped as he moved past Quinn and headed for the kitchen. 

John lit another cigarette while they waited and positioned himself against the wall so he could keep both Renzio and Tommy in his sights.

Lincoln remained standing near Tommy and Theresa, fascinated with how Tommy soothed his sister's yelling into whimpers. He had once seen Tommy tug out a bowie knife when he had run out of bullets and ram it through a man's eye whilst sneering 'how's that for an eyesore' before laughing hysterically as the man died. That image of Tommy really didn't add up with the one before him. Lincoln decided it just made him even warier of the young man, how could you trust someone who could show such extremes in personality with such ease? 

Vito returned with the radio is his hands. He set it down on his desk, turned it on and spun the knobs round hastily to banish the static and avoid the adverts. He let out a loud curse hearing the voice of Uncle Lou promoting something before a jazz oriented song came on. The dogs kept barking and Vito turned the volume dial up though he disapproved of the tune.

“Covered in blood,” Theresa babbled, “they smell the blood, it's everywhere.”

“Dogs or gators?” John pried.

Theresa gazed up at him curiously. “People,” she retorted frostily. “You not get your fare paid? What's that, ride and run? Theft of transport?” She let out a hiccup and shook her head. “Poor taxi man,” she mumbled. “Hey Tommy can I have another drink?” she queried hopefully. “My leg really fucking hurts.”

“That's because you've got it folded up,” Renzio scolded her. “Look at the way you're sitting, can't be comfortable.”

Theresa ignored her brother as her hand stretched out to grasp the whiskey bottle. She frowned when Tommy's hand wrapped around hers and held it and the bottle in place.

“I let you have that and Bobby is going to get real sore with me,” Tommy murmured. “Then again, I let you have it and maybe you'll go to sleep huh? No more whimpering at dogs.”

Theresa turned a winning smile up on her brother and he grimaced at the blood that marred it. “C'mon Tommy,” she slurred, “you're the fun one, don't be...don't be a square.” She yanked her hand and the bottle free and took a dramatic deep gulp from it. “Be a circle in a land of triangles!” she cried out before letting out a giggle. She took another gulp before setting the bottle on the ground and promptly passing out against her brother.

“Well thank God for that,” Vito said dryly.

Tommy let out a weary sigh whilst Renzio gave a grunt of disapproval. “Bobby is gonna be mad,” he muttered.

Tommy shrugged. “Come on Ren you want her to start screaming at the dogs again? You know how bad she can get with dogs.” Tommy shifted his sister so that she was sideways, then he attempted to stand with her in his arms.

Lincoln stepped forward to help but Tommy gave him a warning gaze that had him standing back again.

Tommy glanced about the office before his blue stare fell on the couch. “Vito can I put her there for a few minutes?” he quipped.

“Sure go ahead,” Vito answered. “Let her sleep it off.”

“I think it's time to head for some sleep myself,” Lincoln announced. He glanced over at the unconscious Theresa, watching as Tommy positioned her on the couch and attempted to make her comfortable. He knew she didn't have to be his concern anymore, she was back with her brothers and whatever had happened to her he was certain they'd get to the bottom of it and sort it but there was something compelling him to keep an interest in the matter. “I'll keep an ear out,” he said, “see if I can learn what happened in the Bayou or where her friend Anna is.”

Tommy nodded but Renzio looked annoyed. “We'll take care of it,” Renzio vowed, “you don't fuck with a Navarro and get away with it.”

“Doesn't Marcano fuck with you guys all the time?” John queried blithely.

Renzio glowered at him and clenched his fists slightly. “I'll ignore that since you helped my sister,” he snarled.

“Well then I'll repeat it,” John offered.

Lincoln pressed a hand into John's shoulder, pushing him away from enraged Renzio. “You don't need to do that,” Lincoln said brightly. He leaned into John and murmured into his right ear, “seriously, you forget these guys are insane?” Lincoln patted John's shoulder before releasing him and turning to Vito. “I guess we'll have dinner another time, see you around Vito. Keep me up to date,” he added.

Vito nodded. “Sure Lincoln. Let me walk you out.” The three headed downstairs, bypassed Quinn and met Bobby at the main door to the restaurant.

“You on your way?” Bobby quipped as he glanced from Lincoln to John.

“Sharp guy,” John teased.

Bobby gave a flicker of a smile at this. “I can even count to ten,” he retorted jovially.

John laughed at this. “Oh I like this brother,” he said to Lincoln with a grin, “better sense of humour than the one upstairs.”

Bobby glanced from him to Lincoln and Vito. “Does he mean Ren?”

“How'd you guess?” Vito queried in a deadpan tone. “Always a smiler Renzio.”

Bobby laughed at this and nodded. “Well, thank you,” he addressed John, “for finding and helping my sister, intentional or not.”

“It wasn't,” John confessed cheerfully, “but you're welcome.”

Lincoln looked at the older man and said, “I'd like to help Bobby, help you find out who attacked Theresa, help you get back at them and help you find her friend Anna.”

Bobby looked puzzled at this. “Why?” he queried.

“She's your family and you've done a lot for me,” Lincoln retorted awkwardly. It wasn't the truth although as he said he realised he did owe the brothers for constantly risking their lives to help him. Lincoln just wanted to find out how the woman knew him. He wondered if Bobby would know. “Your sister said she knew me,” he added, “but I don't know how.”  
Bobby's expression of puzzlement deepened. “Not sure how,” he confessed. He scowled slightly and grumbled, “she did run with the Irish a lot, did it just to get a reaction out of me, maybe you seen her with them. You like them micks don't you?”

Lincoln sighed, there had to be some irony to white folks being racist to white folks. “I've a few friends in the Irish gang,” he admitted.

“There's that word again,” John teased with a shake of his head.

“Well, that's probably it,” Bobby said dismissively.

Lincoln nodded but he still wasn't convinced. 

John led the way out to the warm night, striding over to Lincoln's waiting car. Vito followed behind Lincoln, halting him with a light grasp on his right shoulder.

Lincoln turned back to the Italian and looked at him curiously. The shadows of the night were kinder to Vito's appearance than the harsh sun. The man was only forty-three but he appeared a hell of a lot older. Lincoln knew he'd been through fifteen or maybe more years of grief with Sal Marcano but he wondered what he'd endured before that. Something in Vito was broken, Alma had hinted at that often enough though she insisted Lincoln had resurrected something in him too. Lincoln was wary of it, of sharing the same fate of surviving the mob life but finding himself alone and bitter and never quite free of the violence.

“Lincoln I don't know that Tessa kid too well,” Vito confessed, “but there's a dark history there, something those brothers of hers don't want anyone to know. You've got a lot on your plate as it is, maybe you should stay out of this one.”

Lincoln frowned at this. He hated how Vito, Cassandra and Thomas Burke were all quick to use their age and experience against him and on occasion each one of them had been guilty of talking to him like he was thirteen and not twenty-three. He knew Vito meant well but didn't appreciate that the Italian still didn't think he could take care of himself.  
“I'll keep that in mind,” Lincoln retorted bluntly.

Vito sighed. “Hope you do kid.” He turned away from him and headed back in.

Lincoln headed over to his car and unlocked it for the impatiently awaiting John. They both got in and Lincoln started up the engine and turned on the radio before John could start prying about what Vito had said.


	3. Luck of the Irish

The air was damp and the sky lost behind a thick, fluffy smear of light grey and although the day was young it was already warm and promising heat and humidity. Lincoln Clay's car casually splashed through a puddle as he eased it into a parking spot outside the Blue Gulf Motel. He had come to collect John Donovan to take him to Pointe Verdun to retrieve his car from Burke's place. He had hopes of learning more about Theresa there. 

Lincoln turned off his engine, got out of the car and headed up the damp metal staircase to John's supposedly flea-ridden quarters. He didn't bother knocking the door but instead tested the handle and found it unlocked. He opened it up to what John called 'the hub' but what Lincoln was starting to consider a den of crazy. With equipment “borrowed” from the FBI John had set up a surveillance base in the motel. The bathroom doubled as a darkroom for photographs and the bedroom area had numerous photographs on the wall linked up with string and various files scattered on the coffee table. A recorder and tape player system was set up on another table beside a telephone. Lincoln figured the benefit of it being a rundown motel was that there was no maid to come poking into John's affairs. It wasn't all good though as a musty smell of damp combined with cigarettes filled the place, always seeming that little bit worse every time Lincoln visited.

John was crouched at the table muttering to himself as he puffed at a cigarette and flipped through a file. The glass ashtray to his left was already half-full of stubs and ash.

Lincoln felt a spark of surprise as he found himself looking down at an upside down black and white mugshot of Theresa Navarro. “You don't waste time,” he said chirpily.

John glanced up at his friend revealing a bloodshot stare. “No, wasn't expecting her to have a record mind, thought the big brothers might have kept her out of crime.”

“So what did she do?” Lincoln quipped curiously.

“A couple of things. At eighteen she got drunk with some friends, broke into one of the schools, invaded the music room and started up an impromptu band on the street. Cops booked her for breaking and entering, theft of a trumpet and disturbing the peace. Charges got dropped and she just got a fine. At twenty-one she drove a car at a police vehicle head on whilst leaning out the window and making chicken noises,” John explained calmly. “She lost control of the car and ran it into a wall instead.” He looked back down at the file and read, “arrested for dangerous operation of a vehicle and attempted assault of police. Released without charges.” He looked back at Lincoln. “There's an unproven rumour the arresting officer found himself dangling from a very high rooftop for a spell.”

“I guess her brothers did keep her out of crime then,” Lincoln mused. “What was her motive for charging the cops?” 

John shrugged. “Doesn't say, I'm guessing she either wanted to fuck with the police or her brothers or both. I haven't learned much more about her yet, mother died close to her birth, maybe because of it. She's twenty-six, brother Roberto is forty-two, Quintiglo is forty, Renzio is thirty-six and Tommaso is thirty-three, either mum and dad really wanted that girl or Theresa was a surprise. Family is Italian, obviously, dad and mum first generation, came over on the boat with a six-year-old Roberto and four-year-old Quintiglo. Roberto served at the end of World War Two for a year and Renzio is a Vietnam vet just like us.”

“Were you up all night with this?” Lincoln pried. He knew he should be grateful but John's eyes almost looked bruised they were so dark. “Who the hell gets you this kind of information at night?”

John shrugged as he stood up. “I have my sources. I need more time though, still don't know her story or how you might know her.”

“How she might know me,” Lincoln corrected, “I don't know her.”

John grinned at this as he stood up. “Right, well let's get my car.”

“The van not good enough for you?” Lincoln quipped mockingly as he turned and led the way out. He was glad to put the stale stench of damp rot and smoke behind him.

“It's not really fast enough for driving away from psychotic masked men,” John retorted sarcastically. He closed the front door behind him, locked it and followed Lincoln down the  
metal staircase to the waiting car. 

The drive to Pointe Verdun was pleasant, disturbed only by a brief scuffle over the radio station between John and Lincoln, which Lincoln won. It drizzled on the journey but by the time they arrived in the place more commonly known as Irish Point the clouds had parted and the day was looking fresher. 

Lincoln pulled into the entrance of Burke's Iron & Metal with ease, waving out the window casually at the Irish immigrant workers who lingered in the scrap yard smeared in oil and grease working hard at various vehicles, the majority of which were stolen. Lincoln followed the bumpy path round to the brick and wooden buildings that acted as both garage and home for Thomas Burke. 

Lincoln parked close to the door, got out of the car and led the way through a rickety green door to a busy garage. A lively folk song played on the radio whilst the odour of cheap coffee and whiskey mingled with the stronger stench of oil. At the coffee machine two men stood. One was an imposing man who was muscular but heading towards fat, bristle faced with a thick crop of reddish-brown hair his threatening appearance was marred just a little by the colourful flower patterned shirt he donned under a worn, tacky, brown leather jacket. The second man, shorter and leaner, checked every box of average- fair skinned, brown eyed and brown haired, he was mostly unremarkable and his clothes were just as bland as he was. They were Lincoln's underboss Thomas Burke and professional car thief Hank McGahee. Hank also oversaw the livery service Lincoln took full advantage of. 

Burke, despite the early hour, already had a half-drunk beer bottle in hand whilst Hank prepared a cup of a coffee with the texture of tar.

“Morning boss,” Hank greeted chirpily in a bright Dublin accent.

“Lincoln,” Burke growled out in a thick Irish accent as he gave John a look of immediate disapproval. “Who's this, your lawyer?”

Lincoln laughed. “No Burke, he's a friend, here for his car.”

Hank nodded. “Car's ready and all,” he advised, “had to give it a new bonnet, what did the damage?”

“An axe,” John retorted bluntly.

“Did you piss off a woodcutter?” Burke scoffed.

John folded his arms and looked at the alcoholic testily. “Yes, that's exactly what I did,” he retorted stonily.

Lincoln chuckled and shook his head. “Not really, trouble in the bayou with a young woman. Actually, I was hoping you might know her Burke.”

Burke looked at Lincoln questioningly and waited for him to proceed.

“Theresa Navarro?” Lincoln queried as he held Burke's gaze, ready to spy his reaction.

Burke let out a flurry of loud curses before smacking Hank on the back of his head. “What the hell have you been doing with that daigo slut now?”

Hank winced and sidestepped Burke to avoid the next blow. “It wasn't me boss, I swear!” Hank protested. At Lincoln's mentioning of the woman's name his neck had turned a vibrant pink and he had turned his gaze pointedly on the floor.

“It gets better and better with this woman,” John remarked cheerfully with a grin.

Lincoln held both his palms up and outwards in a failed attempt to calm Burke. “Easy Burke I wasn't trying to imply anything,” he said.

Thomas turned an ugly glower on the former soldier. “Then why the hell did you ask about her?” he demanded. He glanced at John pointedly. “What trouble did you have with her?”

“Masked men with axes trouble,” John replied calmly, “and a few shotguns.” He turned a smirk on Hank. “Not the same trouble you had with her I presume?”

Hank shook his head as he gave Lincoln a concerned look. “Is Tess alright?”

Lincoln nodded with a calm expression. He wondered at Hank using a shortened version of her name, how close was he with her? 

“A few scratches but she'll live,” Lincoln reassured the car thief before he turned his attention to his fuming underboss. “What did she do to annoy you Burke?” he pried.

“She's related to those Italian mob assholes,” Burke complained, “think they are something because they wear suits. I tell you, suits or not a bomb would blow them to pieces pretty damn quick! Stupid fucks didn't do much when Marcano took my business over.”

“Come on Burke they're Vito's boys,” Lincoln said, “they're waiting on their chance with Marcano just like all of us.”

“You can't trust an Italian,” Burke insisted with a scowl, “they're too much about keeping it in the family, no loyalty except to their own and even that's doubtful.”

“Because this place has such a variation on culture and race,” John sneered as he gestured outwards to the garage with both hands.

“Anyway,” Lincoln interrupted before Burke could retort, purposely stepping in front of John to block him from Burke's sight. “Theresa, what did she really do to annoy you?”

“Damn near did the splits she had her legs open that often round here,” Burke growled out as he gave Hank another glare of disapproval.

John let out a laugh of surprise and glee before he could help it. “Shit, I bet the big brothers loved that.”

Hank sighed. “I'll get the keys to your car,” he grumbled. He set down his cup and walked off hastily.

Lincoln watched him go with a curious stare as he wondered how serious Theresa's dalliances had been with the Irishman or was it men? Was she one of the fast women Danny had tried to impress with Lincoln's Drifter? Surely Danny would have mentioned her.

Burke muttered a curse. “Stupid bastard,” he grumbled, “thinking with his dick not his head. Normally I can understand that but it's not like she's a nice piece of ass.” He looked at Lincoln disapprovingly. “You seen her right? Crazy like her brothers.”

“Jesus Link are we in a soap opera now?” John queried mockingly. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction Hank had gone and wondered unkindly what Theresa had seen in the man. “True love or a one night stand in potato town?”

“Why are you asking about her anyway?” Burke demanded.

“I just wanted to know how long she'd been on the scene,” Lincoln retorted vaguely.

“Hasn't been,” Thomas said bluntly, “not for a while, got what she wanted. Course, she's like haemorrhoids, you think you've got rid of her and then she pops up again to annoy the arse outta you.”

John laughed at this but Lincoln continued to look disapproving, unamused by the comparison. “Shit Burke, she's not that bad.” Lincoln wanted to ask if Danny had known her but the question caught in his throat and he looked to Burke's half-empty bottle. It wasn't even noon. He knew he couldn't bring himself to say Danny's name and potentially push Burke over the edge for the day. He decided he'd try and ask Nicki instead or maybe Hank when they were away from Burke's scorn.

Hank had returned with the keys looking embarrassed still. He handed them over to John and said brightly, “car's out front.” 

“Well, since this can't get any more awkward we should go,” John suggested brightly.

Lincoln nodded. “Bye Burke, I'll talk with you soon. Thanks for the assist Hank.”

The Irishmen nodded back. 

“I got whiskey stashed around here somewhere,” Burke grumbled to Hank as Lincoln and John headed back outside, “make some proper coffee would you?”

Outside John reunited with his car with a serious stare. He ran his fingertips along the new bonnet gingerly before studying the windscreen up close. “You know I almost feel bad for bringing up dear old Tess,” he mused as he stood upright, “your friend did a good job here, poor payment talking about his possible ex-girlfriend, or is that ex-girlfriend of the whole Irish gang?” he quipped tauntingly.

Lincoln frowned over at John and sighed. He knew there was a lot Burke and Hank weren't saying but he wasn't sure what. “I'll give him a good tip,” he offered. “Still doesn't explain why she thinks she knows me, if Danny had mentioned her to me I'd remember.”

John gestured to Lincoln's scar with one finger. “Even with the head injury? Maybe that bullet knocked a few memories out of you.”

Lincoln shook his head pointedly. “No, I remember all the other shit he told me. I'm going to head by River Row and see how she's doing, do you want to come?” Lincoln gave his friend a teasing smile. “You did rescue her after all.”

“Don't remind me,” John complained, “a momentary lapse of sense in the bayou. Alright I'll come but don't forget Frank Pagani is going to be due back from Cuba soon, can't lose sight of the important things.”

Lincoln nodded agreeably. “I know.”

\---------------------------------

“Ham and eggs,” Vito grumbled, “ham and eggs.” He looked down at the pan of frying eggs disapprovingly before he lifted it off the cooker ring and dished them onto a plate of cooked ham. He gazed at the meal with disgust, it was so plain and crude, an insult to his skills really but it was what Theresa had insisted upon and he could hardly deny her breakfast in a God damn restaurant.

Vito lifted the plate and headed out of the kitchen, pausing as the main door opened. “What is with people and interrupting meal times?” he queried sardonically.

Renzio entered the restaurant followed by Lincoln and John. Vito took in John's tired expression and remarked sarcastically to Lincoln, “hey kid were you hunting through trash? Looks like a raccoon's followed you in.”

John scowled at the comment but didn't bother retorting, he knew he deserved it after his nickname for Vito last night.

“Hey Vito,” Lincoln retorted pleasantly, “we just thought we'd call and check on Theresa.”

“Why?” Renzio grumbled with a hostile stare thrown back at the pair. “Think we can't look after her?”

“Well she was running from masked madmen in the bayou but no, I'm sure that's just your way of toughening her up,” John sneered.

Renzio turned sharply so that he was directly facing John. “Hey fuck you blondie,” he snapped.

“Fellas,” Vito interrupted, “it's too early for this shit. Ren don't forget this is the man who found your sister,” he added pointedly.

Renzio bristled slightly before glancing over at Vito and cringing under his stern sapphire stare. “Right boss,” he muttered quietly.

Vito set down the plate on the waiting table at last. A jug of water and a pot of fresh coffee sat with it. “Go get your sister,” Vito ordered, “tell her, her idea of breakfast is ready.” He pulled another face of disgust at the ham and eggs.

Renzio nodded before heading through the side door that led to the wooden balcony and staircase.

“Didn't I suggest you stay out of this?” Vito quipped bluntly as he gave Lincoln a serious stare.

“Your suggestion was noted,” Lincoln retorted frostily as he held the older man's stare. He didn't appreciate Vito's tone or his attempt to order Lincoln about.

Vito frowned and ran a hand through his greying hair. “Your mistake to make kid,” he murmured. “I just thought you'd more important things to be getting on with,” he added pointedly.

“I'm a great multitasker,” Lincoln replied bluntly.

The side door swung open as Renzio returned followed by the slightly worse for wear Theresa. Her dark hair was an unkempt, frizzy mess, bruising at formed on her right cheek and below her left eye, her lip was swollen in the corner and the ligature marks on wrists had turned to black bruising. Her ruined garments were gone, replaced with a pleated, navy skirt, a sleeveless, red shirt and soft, flat blue shoes. She limped, favouring her right leg although her left leg, which had a fresh bandage about it, didn't look too bad for suffering an alligator bite. 

“Morning,” she greeted cheerfully.

“Morning,” Lincoln retorted calmly, “do you remember us?”

Theresa nodded. “Lincoln and John, do you remember me yet?” she queried airily as she gave Lincoln a scrutinising stare.

He shook his head. “No and I'm starting to think you've mixed me up with someone else.”

“No, not you,” she retorted seriously, “you hung that Dixie Mafia fuck for the world to see, it was glorious. Only wish I could've seen it in person, I would have set fire to that wheel after and let him burn as he hanged,” she said with a wide smile.

“What did he do to you?” Lincoln pried calmly. It was some what of an open question, there wasn't many Doucet hadn't offended or wounded in some way.

Theresa's expression darkened and she clenched her fists. Renzio's right hand came down on her shoulder and he gave it a light squeeze whilst glowering at Lincoln over her crown. 

“Eat your food before it gets cold,” Vito ordered, “I'd complain it took effort but it didn't.”

Theresa nodded as she gave Vito a grateful look before heading over to the table and the waiting ham and eggs. Her smile widened. “Perfect, sunny side up,” she enthused before she sat down.

Vito folded his arms and grumbled, “well of course it's perfect, hard to fuck that up.”

“We visited Pointe Verdun this morning to retrieve my car,” John remarked cheerfully. “Would you believe they got all your blood out? I have to say as well, your Irish friends speak very highly of you,” he added chirpily with a small grin.

Renzio glowered at the blonde, his mouth twitching as he resisted the urge to swear.

Theresa calmly finished digesting her mouthful of egg and ham before turning to John with a smile. “Are they still telling that joke that you can tell I'm Italian because I know my way around meatballs?” she quipped innocently. “Or that I give a foamier head than a barman? Now that one I liked, it was clever.”

Lincoln felt a sudden of rush of heat at his neck. Vito gave a small smile from the shadows of his grey hat whilst John laughed. Renzio muttered several curses in Italian before snarling, “do you have to make it easy for them Theresa? You shouldn't talk about yourself that way.”

Theresa waved her brother off with her left hand before picking up her cutlery again. “Relax Ren, it's exaggerated bullshit, Burke just says these things. You get annoyed you give him what he wants, you should just laugh, some of the jokes are funny.”

“Hank didn't deny it as bullshit,” Lincoln pointed out.

Theresa looked sheepish as her grey gaze darted up to him. “Hmm you have been doing some poking around this morning.” She pushed a strand of her brown hair back and ate a generous portion of ham. “I suppose it doesn't matter now, seeing you're all together to get Marcano.” She turned her stare on John. “But I do owe you and you did bring it up. Alright, Marcano tightened up on the Italian gang, strangled his hold and kept demanding more money. Burke was already on his ass, lost a shipment and his district, desperate times, desperate measures, figured if he wasn't in with Marcano anymore then he was fair game.”

“What did you do?” Vito demanded as he took a step forward. This was the first he had heard about business with Burke and he filled with irritation. The money woes of the Italian gang had been down to him, Marcano had been trying to snuff him out, stop him from being able to kick up the cash so the Commission would grant Marcano permission to off Vito. It had meant a very uncomfortable period of Italians getting kicked around by Southern hicks as they all followed their Marcano's orders to put the squeeze on and demanded their cut.

“Got access to the moonshine from Connor,” Theresa answered blithely, “stole it with Quinn and sold it quick for cash at the docks. I also got the keys to the garage of the prize cars from Hank and kept him busy while Quinn and a few others took what they could and sold them on to the district racers. It got us fast cash when we needed it but I made sure Danny's favourite car wasn't taken,” she added defensively.

“So you kept men in Burke's organisation busy with sex in order to distract them while your brother Quinn robbed them?” Lincoln surmised with his eyebrows slightly raised as he failed to hide his look of bemusement.

Renzio sighed angrily as he saw the look of disgust Vito was giving his sister. “Fuck Tess, they didn't need to know it but if you're gonna tell things like that, tell it right.”

Theresa glanced up at her brother apologetically and shrugged. “What did I leave out?” she queried in feigned confusion. “Oh, the striptease at the start of the night, right, so Quinn could spike their beer kegs, got them knocked out so we could steal the cars in peace and some petty cash.”

“Stop protecting him,” Renzio ordered. He glowered at John moodily wanting desperately to shoot the smirk off his face. “The Dixie Mafia decided to round up a few of us, figured we might pay up quicker with an incentive, seemed some of them didn't get the memo that Marcano didn't actually want us paying up. Tommy was one of them, out one night with a woman who was in their pay, she drugged him and called them up. They took them out to the bayou and got word to us that they weren't coming back alive unless we paid for the privilege. When they returned one, Dino, as a box of charred bones and ashes we knew we didn't have time either.”

“You paid them off and never said a word about it to me?” Vito demanded loudly with a look of outrage.

Renzio winced slightly as he looked to his boss apologetically. “We didn't have the time boss or the muscle, not back then. No one wanted you to worry, you had enough shit and...”

“And what could I do, right?” Vito quipped bitterly.

“Well what could you do?” Theresa snapped at him hotly. “What the hell can anyone ever do about those Dixie bastards? They've been torturing people out in that swamp for God damn years and it just goes on and on. The things that happen out there, you don't hear about it, don't ever know. People bleed out there.” She shuddered and her stare turned vacant for a moment. “Covered in blood,” she murmured. She set down her cutlery. “Anyway, that's all in the past, I've other things to worry about.”

“Like you're friend?” Lincoln quipped.

“Yeah, Anna,” Theresa retorted moodily.

“Who were the masked people?” John pried.

Theresa gave him an irritated stare. “Didn't I tell you enough? What does it matter to you who they were?”

“We want to help,” Lincoln retorted swiftly.

Theresa folded her arms in her lap and raised her eyebrows at this. “You don't have anything better to do?” she remarked sardonically.

Lincoln gritted his teeth at this and grumbled, “I'm getting tired of that assumption. I can multitask.”

“Hmm I get that, you help me, maybe you figure out how I know you,” Theresa retorted coyly.

“You could just tell him?” John suggested lightly.

Theresa gave a small smile at this. “I could but he wouldn't believe it and where's the fun in that? Sure aren't you enjoying learning how I fucked my way round Irish Point? Think what else you could learn about me,” she mused merrily. 

“And there's that Navarro craziness slipping out,” Lincoln murmured. He ignored the look of ire he earned from Renzio at this. “Right now I just want to help your friend,” he said calmly.

“Hmm that's all I want to do,” Theresa mused. She stood up, raised her arms to hug her torso as if she were cold and gave Lincoln a serious stare. “I can't let you help, I can't have the sky fall on you too.”


	4. Nice Night For A Swim

Frail, pale Anna. Lincoln almost couldn't believe it as he took her in. He couldn't be sure it was the same Anna Theresa had mentioned but what were the odds there was another Anna wandering confused and frightened in New Bordeaux? The 'Covered in Blood' was the clincher for Lincoln, Theresa and Anna had both mumbled it in a dazed state and it was on the wall of Sammy's outside which Anna had turned up.

They were currently in Tickfaw Harbor in a flat that belonged to one of Father James' parishioners, a place he hoped would be safe for Anna. It was just after eight in the evening and Lincoln was still trying to digest his latest day of madness. He'd gone to the Hollow answering a request from Cassandra who had mentioned a fear that the people of the Hollow couldn't protect themselves. Things had gotten heated the way they always did between Lincoln and Cassandra. She tried to tell him how the world was run as if he didn't know and he swallowed down his resentment that it had been her and her Haitian followers who had run Sammy into a corner he couldn't back out of. In the end Lincoln had consented to her request for weapons. 

After his business with Cassandra, Lincoln had dropped by with Father James. It was meant to be a brief visit but then the priest had gotten to talking about how Lincoln needed closure, how he'd missed Sammy and Ellis' funerals and maybe seeing Sammy's place might help him shift his focus. On that the priest was right, it had shifted Lincoln's focus, straight on to Anna McGee when she had come running out of the ruined bar covered in blood.

There had been masked men, bodies and blood. After taking out the masked pursuers of Anna, Lincoln had bid Father James to take her to sanctuary whilst he had secured Sammy's again. Odd symbols were on the walls and floors of the bar and it had been clear the place had been taken over by squatters of the cult variety. It had sickened Lincoln to his core to see what Sammy's had become. He had been expecting vagrants and vandalism but not the horrors of sacrifice and murder. It had filled him with guilt as well to see the place once again tainted with violence and death. He had been forced to leave it in a state of disarray but vowed to help his Aunt Anna restore it.

Now Lincoln was with Father James after failing to contact Donovan. He wanted to see that both the priest and the young woman were secure and learn more about what had happened to her before he tried to get in touch with Theresa. 

The apartment they occupied was spacious and lavish, probably not the standards the posh LSD addicts in Frisco Fields were used to but certainly more impressive than anything Lincoln had experienced. For a hideaway, Father James certainly could have done worse. 

Lincoln took a stance against the breakfast bar Anna was seated at. The young brunette was twitchy, washed of her bloodstains and donning a borrowed sweater and jeans, she was dwarfed in the sweater and appeared almost childlike in her petite, nervous state.

Father James stood beside Lincoln holding the cup of coffee Lincoln had rejected close to his chest. “She's not made much sense,” he confided in a low tone, “I think she's still in shock.”

Lincoln nodded sympathetically. “Anna,” he addressed her gently, “we just want to help you. Those men you were running from, I met another woman who was running from masked men as well. She mentioned she was looking for her friend Anna, called herself Theresa.” He was hopeful that by mentioning Theresa it would put Anna at ease and give her a reason to trust Lincoln.

Anna's pale eyes widened and her lip trembled as she looked confused for a moment. “She...she's alive?” she queried hoarsely. She shook her head and murmured, “they were sending her for a swim. Not filth, not well-born, they didn't want her.” She choked down a sob. “They wanted me, I thought being wanted could only be good.” 

“Anna I can get Theresa for you, bring her round,” Lincoln offered.

Anna looked at him in horror and jumped up from the breakfast bar suddenly. “NO! No!” She pushed her hands outwards in a firm gesture. “You can't endanger her! The ones who aren't worth noticing, they get lost in the swamp, Bonnie said, they can't cleanse you, can't be cleansed, can't take the poison.”

“Bonnie?” Lincoln echoed.

Anna staggered backwards and hugged herself tightly with a wild stare of fear. “Watch the sky doesn't fall on you and don't let it fall on Tessa again, don't let her drown.”

“Lincoln,” Father James interrupted, “I think that's enough, she needs to rest.” He gestured with one hand to the living room area. “We should talk privately about what you found at Sammy's.”

Lincoln nodded dumbly though he kept his stare on the frightened Anna. Theresa had mentioned the sky falling as well, what the hell did that mean?

___________________________________________

Vito looked across the tarnished round table at Theresa and wondered which of them was more on edge. He was on his fourth smoke, she was only on her second but he still had half of his second glass of whiskey on the table whilst she was reaching to pour her third. Neither of them had expected to once again be together in Benny's and yet here they were. It was just after eight in the evening, a light drizzle outside was promising to get heavy and the wind was picking up. They were upstairs in Vito's office space sitting at a rarely used table trying to play cards

Theresa had left this morning, heading out with Ren in her wake, muttering about finding Anna. By six in the evening she was back, brought by an apologetic Tommaso. Lincoln had called requesting back up from the Navarro brothers, Frank Pagani had turned up in Tickfaw and he wasn't alone. Lincoln had done too good a job at disabling Frank's smuggling and auto operations and now, rumour had it, Tommy Marcano was demanding that Frank fixed it or else.

Tommaso admitted to Vito that Lincoln's call to his brother Bobby had come as a whisper, he'd been jumped by Marcano's men and was holed up somewhere in Tickfaw running low on ammo and time. Bobby had decided all the Navarro brothers should go but he didn't want Theresa left unwatched. Tommaso had left it unsaid whether this was because Bobby feared what Theresa might do alone or feared what others might do to her. Vito had consented to her staying another night in his domain under the close watch of him and his men.

Vito had expected some trouble from the young woman, some sullen protest or an attempt to sneak off but she hadn't bothered. All Theresa had done was shrug her shoulders and ask for a smoke. Now here they were, two hours later, playing a tense game of piquet whilst sharing a box of smokes and a bottle of whiskey. Theresa worried for her brothers though she never said it and Vito wondered about Frank Pagani, a man he had often played cards with. 

Vito didn't know what way he wanted the phone call from Bobby or Lincoln to go. Frank worked for the Marcanos so he had to go but Vito couldn't see it so plainly. Frank was a family man, a stand up guy, he wasn't a backstabbing bastard like Sal Marcano or a crafty sneering fuck like Sal's younger brother Tommy. Frank had fallen in with the Marcanos out of a desire to forget the death of his wife and infant during labour, he had fled to the sea and Sal had paid him for the privilege. It had been shitty pay but Frank hadn't cared, he didn't want the coin, he just wanted the escape. It had changed in Cuba, things had gotten rough and Frank, being a stand up guy, had made the mistake of saving Tommy Marcano from Castro's men and getting him back to New Bordeaux in one piece. Frank's station with the Marcanos had risen after that and Sal had given him Tickfaw Harbour as thanks. Vito couldn't fault Frank for taking what was given to him, the man had never gotten greedy, he'd never demanded more or tried to muscle in on other districts, Frank had just settled with the harbour and kept business going with Cuba. Still, surely Frank knew what a bastard Sal was and he was bound to know how he had betrayed Vito and tried to have him killed but, as far as Vito knew, Frank hadn't done much about that. There had been no outrage or indignation for Vito on Frank's part.

“Dollar for your thoughts?”

Vito blinked and stared across the table at Theresa. The room was cast in a soft, green tinted glow caused by the bottle green glass on the lampshade of the two table lamps that were turned on. There was a light on above the table, shaded by an ordinary red shade that cast no glow, allowing them to see their cards unhindered, but it wasn't powerful enough to cast away the green tinge. 

“It's nothing,” Vito retorted dismissively.

“You've glanced at that phone several times,” Theresa pointed out with a nod to the black dial phone resting on the office desk. She glanced at the cards and then back up at Vito, holding his gaze with ease. “Tell you what, I win this game you tell me what's on your mind.”

“And if I win?” Vito pried. He was curious about what she might offer and eager to hear it before he shut down her suggestion.

There gave a small smile. “What do you want?” she quipped quietly.

Vito pondered this as he glanced at his cards before taking another puff from his cigarette. He thought he had known all he needed to about the Navarro family but he was realising quickly how wrong he was about that. He pondered the business with Tommaso and the Dixie Mafia, and Theresa and Quinn's business with the Irish. 

“Why the fuck do dogs unnerve you?” Vito demanded bluntly as he flicked ash into the glass tray on the table.

Theresa's smile widened before she nodded. “Fine, if you win I'll tell you the answer to that.”

They played through the six deals slowly, pausing for drinks and smokes. Theresa was coy, Vito concluded privately that she had a good poker face and used that small smile of hers as a weapon. They exchanged hands and asked questions, each studying their cards with a surprising seriousness. It was the distraction they both needed.

In the end Vito won. Theresa could be as coy as she liked but he had played poker games with experienced Mafioso men who had been able to lie convincingly about murders they had committed.

As Vito completed the game he tipped up his grey trilby and looked at the young woman expectantly.

Theresa downed the remnants of her glass swiftly, pausing to lick about her lips to savour the sticky stain left there. She sat down the glass and parted her lips once more, ready to render the truth of her phobia onto Vito.

There was a yell from downstairs and the sound of glass smashing. Gunfire and cursing followed.

“What the fuck?” Vito snapped as he jumped to his feet and yanked out his gun from its holster at his hip.

“Wait!” Theresa cried out as Vito ran for the door. “Look.” She gestured to the tall windows that looked out the front of the restaurant. There were plumes of smoke and the glow of amber embers outside, barely against the onyx black of the stormy night.

Glass continued to shatter and a crazed voice shouted, “burn it all! Purge the unclean!”

“Fucking freaks!” a man answered before the rata-ta-ta sound of a semi-automatic followed.

Vito headed for the door again, pushing it open to the hallway just as someone else kicked in the balcony door. Vito was caught off-guard as a tall masked figure came charging in wielding a bloodstained axe bring the roaring cold of the wind with them. 

Before Vito could register what was happening Theresa moved between him and the figure with an angry yell and swung a lamp hard and fast into the assailant's head. The lampshade smacked against the attacker's skull before hitting the floor whilst the bulb shattered with the impact that followed.

BANG! Vito had recovered to send a single deadly shot into the man's chest.

Theresa released the broken lamp as the man stumbled with a pained gasp of horror. She looked out to the balcony at the sound of more footsteps and bypassed the dying man to run towards them. 

Vito followed after her with a curse, conscious of the clouds of smoke that were wafting up the wooden staircase outside to shroud the balcony.

The rain was lashing down, with it, the smoke clouds and the dark of the night, vision was almost impossible. The smell of damp was overpowered by the stench of burning and the sound of water droplets hissing as they struck flames merged with the crackle of the fire. The wind was roaring too, whipping the orange flames into a frenzy even as the rain fought them down.

From the dark smoke clouds a figure emerged without warning. They loomed at six feet plus with a mock stag's head mask with antlers to add to their intimidating height. The blank eye sockets of the stag focused on Vito and Theresa as two large hands raised a shotgun, pointing the nozzle in their direction.

There was an odd squelching noise followed by the splatter of liquid in the air. The figure stumbled slightly and let out an odd gurgling noise before they staggered back to the stairs and fell down into the smoke without warning. 

It took Vito a second to work out what had happened and only when he caught the gleam of metal and blood in the crimson glow of embers did he realise. Theresa had pulled out a large dagger and sliced open the man's throat with it.

She was coughing hard and only at the sounds of her struggles for air did Vito notice just how hard it was getting to breathe. His eyes stung too, irritated with smoke and heat. He raised his left hand to shield his mouth and nose as his chest tightened and shuddered, threatening to bring up coughs. He glanced to the left and winced at the sight of his deceased guard Denny. The poor man had, had his head all but severed from his shoulders by the axe. Vito made the sign of the cross hastily before wiping rainwater from his eyes and moving to the balcony edge with Theresa.

“These friends of yours?” Vito quipped sarcastically.

Theresa nodded, her gaze on the murky waters below. She had turned an odd pale shade of grey and her dark hair was now limp and plastered to her skin with damp.

Feeling a rush of heat, Vito looked to the staircase and realised in horror that it was on fire. He holstered his gun and looked to the young woman again. “We're going to have to jump.”

Theresa nodded solemnly, her gaze remained on the black spread of water below them. She swallowed hard and tensed. “You can't see what's down there,” she said softly. If Vito hadn't been standing so close to her he would have never heard her over the roar of the rain and fire.

“Water,” Vito answered bluntly, “which is better than fire, believe me.” He caught a flashback of being in a warehouse, running towards gunfire and flaming molotovs all in the name of vengeance. He had been half-mad to do it, even madder given he had already experienced almost perishing in a burning distillery, then there was the bomb in the hotel that had gone off too early and almost burned him from this earth. Vito shook his head, discarding the memories as he did, too many times now he'd played with fire. 

Theresa shook her head but offered no argument.

“Let's go kid,” Vito ordered.

The pair climbed up onto the fence awkwardly, feet slipping against the damp wood before they made it up. Together they jumped. Vito figured it wasn't so bad as he fell, he was wet anyway from the rain, how much worse could the rippling dark water below be? All that concerned him was keeping his hat secured and as he fell he clutched it tightly to his head with one hand.

The two splashes were loud but not enough to be heard over the battle between the fire and rain and the ever nearing wail of sirens in the night air. The rain was winning out, the fire was starting to retreat and the few surviving masked assailants knew they would have to do the same if they wanted to survive. Yet they had to be thorough, one quick check before the police and fire trucks arrived.

Theresa's head bobbed up first. She gasped for air and turned and twisted about the water anxiously, panic setting in as she realised she couldn't see anything in the dark. The predators in the water would be upon her before she had a chance. She spied the wooden docks and started swimming for them, there was safety.

The dogs came quickly, made anxious by the fire, they moved out of an obedience beaten into them, growling instinctively as they sniffed at the night air but smelt only charred flesh and the salt of the water. They padded across the wooden docks rapidly, noses low as they sniffed hastily and growled.

Theresa, having just reached the docks, halted in the water and her mouth parted to let out a scream as she heard the low growls. 

A hand clamped around the young woman's mouth with enough force to bruise before a sound could escape her. She was yanked back through the water and under the shade of the wooden planks of the docks.

“Don't make a fucking sound,” Vito murmured into her left ear sternly. He turned his stare upwards, which was difficult given his damp and dented trilby obscured part of his vision. He could just about make out the dark sleek coat of a hound as it halted above them. 

Vito's free hand reached down into the cold waters for the gun resting at his hip as the hound pawed at the wooden planks with one paw and let out a low snarl. Vito felt Theresa's body turn rigid against his. She was deathly still in the waters and didn't make so much as a ripple as the hound continued to snarl in frustration above them.

“Dog's got something!” a woman cried out excitedly.

Vito tugged up his pistol from the water and pointed it upwards, steadying his hand as he waited for a human target. He heard footsteps echo on the wooden planks as the dog continued to growl and he sucked in a breath. He wasn't nervous, hell he wasn't even uneasy, a lousy dog and some mad amateurs playing with fire, what was that compared to all the other shit he'd dealt with? 

Theresa's nostrils flared as she breathed rapidly through them. Her head was turned upwards as her grey eyes watched transfixed in horror.

“Shit the cops are here!” a man shouted.

“But the dog has something!” the woman protested.

“I said the fucking cops are here,” the man snarled, “we need to go!”

“Fuck! Come on dog!”

There was a protesting growl, another yell and a yelp before the dog was dragged away.

Vito didn't relax, he waited with his gun aimed and ready and counted to ten in his head. The sirens were almost deafening now along with the screech of tyres. Gunfire and yelling following as the masked figures tried to evade the police.

“I'm going to let go now,” Vito said quietly in Theresa's right ear, “but no screaming, I don't want to be dealing with the cops.”

Vito pulled his hand back from the young woman and readied himself for an angry tirade but Theresa was quiet as she spoke. “I'm going to get out of the water, okay,” she said calmly, almost dazed, “my leg's bleeding.”

“Shit.” Vito glanced about their surroundings finally wondering about the unseen predators in the water. “Head out and right, stay close to the buildings you'll reach a boathouse, we'll head in there and I'll place a call.”

“Alright,” Theresa answered softly, “but don't swim too close, they'll smell the blood, better they just come after me.”

“They?” Vito echoed dryly.

“The alligators, they hide so many secrets in the swamp.”

Vito shook his head, he figured the young woman had gone into a state of shock. “Just start swimming.”

Theresa obeyed. Her movements were careful and calm, there was no splashing as she moved, staying close to the buildings towering above them. Vito followed close behind her, gun still in hand as he looked out to the gloom. He spied a few sets of yellow eyes, they were unblinking and unmoving, Vito figured the fire kept them at bay. The Empire Bay native watched them warily as he swam but didn't call a warning to Theresa, no sense putting her in a panic that might only draw the reptilian beasts to them if he didn't have to.

Theresa reached the boathouse with relief. She swam in slowly, wincing as she bumped ungracefully against the speedboat moored there. Her hands reached for the handles of the steps and she grasped them tightly, hoisting herself up awkwardly. She let out a hiss of pain as her leg throbbed with the effort and her bruised wrists protested the movement before she staggered up onto the wooden docking of the boathouse. She looked back to the steps and her gaze filled with relief as Vito pulled himself up with a lot more grace.

“Well at least I know being a lifeguard isn't my calling,” she mused sarcastically as she flopped back onto the wooden surface with a gasp.

“You thought it was?” Vito quipped sarcastically as he walked over to her. 

She smiled up at him and shook her head before pushing herself up to a sitting position and propping herself against the wall. “Never considered it but now I won't have to. You know I have to give you credit.”

“What for?” he pried wearily as he glanced about the dark shack for the phone hanging on the wall.

“You've managed to keep your hat on throughout this whole ordeal, that's quite a skill.”

Vito nodded as he holstered his gun and walked over to the phone. “Well it is raining, I might need a hat,” he retorted sarcastically as he picked up the receiver and got the operator. He gave Alma Diaz's home number and asked for the charges to be reversed.


	5. Cuban Hideaway

John Donovan peered through his shades at the still smoking remains of Vito's restaurant, or Benny's rather. The blond agent pondered curiously just who Benny was, a minion of Marcano's or a fictitious character perhaps? He tilted his sunglasses slightly as he tipped his head upwards, catching a gleam of gold from the rising sun. There was only one token police car remaining on sight, with the property owner AWOL and this being the poorer side of town no one really cared much for a few murdered gangster thugs and some nameless masked freaks probably under the influence of drugs. John had arrived just in time to see the deer masked body of one man before it was covered up and removed for the mortuary.

John had been driving near the water based district when the news of the fire had come through on his radio. Curious, he had been unable to resist heading to the scene. Seeing the masked body had only increased his intrigue. He had no knowledge of Theresa having returned here last night and could only wonder if her assailants from the swamp had come to know she had been brought here by John and the others. John pondered grimly if they had come for Vito would they soon be looming out of the shadows for him with axes and masks like some over exaggerated figures from a cheap slasher film. He sighed and lowered his gaze to the docks, he had no time for such nonsense.

John headed from the scene before the policeman scrutinising him could query his presence. John had too much to deal with in New Bordeaux as it was without adding Theresa's shit to his plate. Yet her cryptic hints at knowing Lincoln nagged at him, apparently even more than they nagged at Lincoln. Maybe it was because John hadn't unearthed the truth of that and damn it if he didn't hate someone knowing something he didn't. His talent was finding out information, whether it was through bugs, intimidation or old-fashioned investigating it didn't matter, he always found out what he needed to know.

Warm, tired, sick of the stench of fish, and knowing he wasn't going to learn much about Vito's whereabouts by just standing here, John retreated to his car. He figured the best move was to head to a payphone and try and get in touch with Lincoln. Maybe John would even be nice and give Lincoln a head's up about Vito's situation. Truthfully, John couldn't give a shit, if Vito was the mob boss he acted like he'd be fine and sort his own revenge, if he was the weak, discarded Marcano underling struggling for survival that John perceived him as then he was probably fish food already.

It took fifteen minutes for John to reach a gas station with both an available pump and payphone. After filling up his tank, he headed for the phone and was pleasantly surprised when he got an answer on the third number he tried. Lincoln had a tendency to roam, but being a man of colour wanted by the leading mobster in the city his choice of places to stay were limited. Sometimes he spent a night with the preacher, sometimes he bunked in a motel in Irish Point, not too close to Burke but close enough that the Irish would keep Marcano's minions at bay, rarely he got boardings from someone friendly in Delray Hollow, and sometimes he slept in the spare room of Benny's. The latter was easy to rule out for obvious reasons, no one answered the preacher's line and Raejeanne in the Hollow confirmed she hadn't seen him, which left the Pearl Diver Motel in Pointe Verdun.  
After getting confirmation of a man using the name Robinson staying in the motel, John was transferred through to the room. While waiting for a response he tugged out a cigarette and lit it.

“Hello?”

John was a little surprised by the voice that answered, young, female and, if he wasn't mistaken, the faintly Irish twanged, Southern muddled voice of Nicki Burke. “Hello, is there a Mr. Robinson in residence?” John quipped calmly.

“Who wants to know?” she retorted calmly in a tone suspicious but without the hostile accusatory nature her father was infamous for.

“His reporter friend, could you put him on please?” John retorted impatiently. He took a quick puff from his cigarette.

There was a low murmur of voices before Lincoln's weary voice came on. “John is that you?” he queried tiredly.

“Bingo, Lincoln how have you been, where have you been and more importantly, do you know Vito's fish joint just got fried?”

“I heard,” Lincoln retorted bluntly, “but how do you know?”

“I'm in the area, in fact I was just there, it's actually not too bad, couple of blackened walls, some dead wops oh, and a few of my masked friends from the bayou,” John added cheerfully. “The Navarro sibling is bad news, who would have guessed?” he remarked sardonically. “How did you hear Lincoln? Slow news in New Bordeaux? I heard late last night some bad shit was going down in Tickfaw Harbour, no one seems to have confirmed what though.”

“Not like you to be slow on the uptake John,” Lincoln teased. “Frank Pagani is dead, wasn't easy but I did it.”

“Hmm, alone? Because I heard someone used fireworks in the harbour, honest to God fireworks, very subtle, you wouldn't know about that Lincoln would you?” John pried bitingly. He took several brisk puffs from his cigarette.

Lincoln gave a low laugh in retort. “I got in bad trouble John, got my arm shot up and my ass almost handed to me, I barely made it to a phone and then I had to bunk down in some tight corner and wait out the gunfire, it was like being in a foxhole again. I phoned for the Navarro brothers and I'm glad they came.”

“Which one used the fireworks?” John demanded dryly.

“Tommy,” Lincoln confessed, “and Ren brought a flamethrower, do you think you could get me one?” he queried eagerly.

John shook his head pointlessly. “Where was Theresa in all this?” he quipped tauntingly. “They didn't leave their sweet little sister alone so soon?”

“Not exactly, Tommy left her with Vito.”

“Oh shit,” John marvelled, “well that's a good twist now, the Italian overlord of River Row plays babysitter only to get ambushed for his troubles. I wonder who's more pissed, Vito or Ducks?”

“I don't even know if the Navarros know,” Lincoln mumbled.

“Course they know Lincoln, it's on the news, well the fire anyway,” John sneered. He stubbed out his cigarette against the glass of the booth and dropped it on the ground.  
“Not that,” Lincoln admitted tiredly. “Once I heard about the fire I made a few calls, I got hold of Alma about ten minutes ago. That's where Vito and Theresa are, with her. I don't know if the Navarro brothers know that. I'm on my way now. Do you think since you're in the area you could head round?”

John made a face of disgust unseen by Lincoln. “Not really on my agenda Lincoln.”

“Come on man, they might need some back up and I owe Theresa's brothers.”

John smacked his free hand hard against the glass booth. “What because they were with you?” John retorted in irritation. “Lincoln that's their job and it's not your fault she's got some inbred psychos after her. I should have left her in the swamp for the hicks and the gators.”

“But you didn't,” Lincoln pointed out.

John frowned. “So you're saying this is my fault?”

Lincoln laughed again. “In a manner of speaking, yeah, so help out.”

John sighed. “Fine Lincoln,” he said quietly before his voice grew loud again, “but only because you sound sore and Pagani's dead.”

“And you want to see Vito homeless?” Lincoln suggested sarcastically.

John gave a flicker of a smile and pressed his sunglasses up the ridge of his nose. “That might be a bonus. I'll head round to Alma's now.”

“You don't need an address?”

John laughed. “Lincoln, you know me better than that.” He hung up the phone and headed back to his car.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Lincoln set down the receiver and looked up to Nicki Burke apologetically. She was frowning pointedly at his bandaged arm. As he was sitting on the edge of the lumpy motel bed and she was standing she had the advantage of height, which gave her a rare moment of intimidation over Lincoln. “You gotta go already?” she quipped with a look of disapproval in her gaze.

Lincoln nodded. “Yeah, my friend has just confirmed the Ensanglante have turned up again.”

It was weird saying the name aloud, up until last night they had just been a bogeyman story to Lincoln, a myth told by Perla to ensure he and Ellis behaved at night. Now Anna and Father James had confirmed they were real and apparently hunting Theresa. It was the last thing Lincoln wanted to deal with. He was exhausted and regretting his decision to ever set foot in Tickfaw Harbour. The business with Anna had been enough, adding an assassination of Frank Pagani to it had been an overload.

Nicki had only arrived half an hour ago after word had reached her of Lincoln's arrival to the motel in the early hours of this morning in a bloody, limping state. Apparently someone in Pointe Verdun had recognised him and sent word to the nicer of the Burke family members. She had come as quickly as she could ready to administer aid, justice or vengeance, even all three if required. For Lincoln it had repaired some of his shattered faith in humanity to see that he still had some good friends in the city.

This morning was clammy and Lincoln was past the point of exhaustion but he couldn't give into his desire for rest until he knew Theresa was safe and Vito too he supposed though he couldn't imagine the grisly Italian was suffering too hard. Lincoln had only just explained Theresa's arrival into his life to Nicki, briefly covering the discovery of Anna and the Ensanglante as well before John had called, now he wondered if Nicki could clear up some of the mystery surrounding the American-Italian woman.

“You know, Theresa thinks she knows me but I can't place her,” Lincoln confessed. “I know she hung around with the Irish mob, your dad confirmed it. Do you know how she might know me?”

Nicki raised her brown eyebrows slightly at this. “Exploited the mob you mean,” she said coolly, “got those stupid boys drunk and robbed them.”

Lincoln smiled and nodded. “Out of desperation to get money to help her brother I'm told,” he murmured empathetically.

“Yeah, Hank said the same,” Nicki dismissed with a shrug. “Dad doesn't buy it but those Italians who weren't lucky enough to be bought back from the Dixie Mafia made the rumour mill, vanished and never returned except for one or two, in pieces.” She shook her head with a look of disgust. “Some fucking life we've tangled ourselves in.”

“How do I know Theresa though?” Lincoln pressed as he stood up. “I don't remember her Nicki.”

“No,” she said softly as she turned her gaze to the half-drawn blinds at the window, “I wouldn't think you would. She knew Danny but she wasn't with him when he was with you. They went way back, kindergarten age, there was some group outside school.” Nicki paused again and her expression clouded over as she faced Lincoln again. “I don't know Lincoln, better leaving the past where it is. Besides, you were hardly there with them, I don't think.”

Lincoln frowned and rubbed at his bandaged arm absent-mindedly. He knew Nicki was holding back on something but he didn't want to pry too hard, he could see her eyes misting up at the mention of Danny.

“Don't scratch that,” she chided him. “Honestly Lincoln you look like shit, maybe you should stay here a few hours.” She folded her arms and frowned up at him. “I don't see why you're running after the Navarro girl all of a sudden.”

“I'm not,” Lincoln protested, although he was beginning to think he was, “but I can't ignore these masked assholes either, they've attacked two of my friends and trashed Sammy's. They're kidnapping and murdering innocent people too, that's got to stop Nicki.” He gave her a compelling look, willing her to understand. Nicki was one of the very few to understand the tightrope he walked, balancing precariously between good and evil.

“Do you have to avenge everyone Lincoln?” she pried. “I'm raw about Danny still, I get your pain and I want Marcano dead as much as anyone but what will get us in the end? Peace? Only until the next fuck takes charge. It doesn't bring them back, it doesn't undo the damage, and there is always some other bastard in the shadows waiting to take over.”

Lincoln nodded agreeably. “I know but I can't ignore it. Theresa and Anna are the survivors of these Ensanglante and they're both messed up, imagine the women that haven't survived Nicki and imagine how many more will suffer.” He stepped up to her and gave a small smile. “Thanks for coming and thanks for caring.”

She nodded. “Anytime, you need Hank to bring you a car?”

Lincoln nodded gratefully. “Yeah, that would be handy.”

“I'll give him a ring, he'll probably come twice as fast if I mention Theresa,” she added with a rue smile.

“He must have really liked her not to be mad about her screwing him for cars,” Lincoln murmured.

Nicki laughed. “He liked her more for it, said a crafty woman made the fucking all the more exciting.” She held a hand up in protest. “His words, not mine. Who could be bothered with that shit? Nice just to have someone to come home to and have dinner with I think.”

Lincoln looked morose at this, dating wasn't something he had considered since his near death experience. Everyone pried and made remarks and offered advice, it was the one thing Cassandra, Burke, Vito and John ironically had in common- an opinion on Lincoln's love life or lack of. Vito and Burke had even gone so far as to personally recommend prostitutes who'd pleased them in the past.

“Maybe,” Lincoln said softly. “I'd better ring Alma and let her know my friend's on his way.”

 

\------------------------------------------------

John arrived at Alma Diaz's private home just a little before eight in the morning. It was a two storey terrace, unremarkable, blending into all the other terraces in River Row. Rundown, wooden, tightly packed and serving as a melting pot of ethnic families, this neighbourhood was a good place to lose one's self in, as many illegals found. John knocked the flimsy door and waited impatiently for an answer. 

The door opened a crack, chain still on as the suspicious dark gaze of Alma Diaz peered out. She frowned and murmured, “one second.” The door closed.

John felt a flash of relief and was startled to realise he'd actually been tense coming face to face with the Cuban dissident. She was strongly anti-Communist, just like John, and had helped a CIA agent in Cuba by saving him from the local navy. She was a hardened young woman, aged prematurely from a violent upbringing in Cuban that had seen her father murdered and her mother abducted right before her eyes but there was still a spark in her and John was a little attracted to it.

The chain jingled, the dog fussed, and the door reopened again. “Lincoln's friend?” Alma queried wearily as she peered at the blonde with a frown.

“Yeah, John.” 

“Vito said you were a college boy, blonde, suited and smug,” Alma said with a small smile.

John gave a fixed smile at this as his attraction to the woman soured. “I bet he forgot to mention my charm and wit too,” he retorted calmly.

Alma leaned up against the door frame and continued to scrutinise John. “Lincoln said you were coming by to provide some heat, doesn't look like you're packing much,” she remarked sarcastically.

John chuckled, undeterred by the insult. “If I was all show I'd be easily spotted, better to be discreet don't you think?”

Alma shrugged. “A blonde in a fancy suit in this neighbourhood, yeah that's discreet,” she mocked before she stepped away from the door at last.

John stepped in and paused to close the door behind him. He was reluctant to be here but intrigued at the same time. 

Alma led the way down a narrow corridor with peeling wallpaper that lacked décor and into the right through an ajar door to a small, grim living room thick with the stench of smoke and something damp and foul. Vito and Theresa occupied a single, coal grey couch, sunken and in need of an upholstery. Side by side they both looked up to John wearily.  
John immediately recoiled at the stench and looked to the pair accusingly. They were bedraggled and damp, clothes soaked and soiled with dirty water, Theresa's hair was lank and turning frizzy and Vito's grey hat was two shades darker and deformed with the weight of water.

“Could neither of you take a fucking shower?” John blurted out.

“Good fucking morning to you too,” Vito sneered back sarcastically.

Theresa smiled and said, “the water's out here. Besides, don't you like the fresh, modern smell of the city docks?”

“Sure, it's the smell of faeces and fish I don't like,” John retorted.

Vito and Theresa hadn't been at Alma's house long. Vito had been able to get in contact with Alma quickly enough at the boathouse but getting past the police to meet with her had been a little trickier. She had come within a couple of hours in an old truck no one would look twice at, meeting Vito and Theresa a block away from the ruined restaurant. From there she had driven cautiously, taking several detours before arriving at her terrace. The journey had taken twice as long as it normally should have but Vito couldn't fault the need for precaution. Alma had then given Theresa and Vito a meagre breakfast of coffee and eggs before leaving them to nap in her living room. Vito had opted for smoking instead, he hadn't gotten any sleep whilst Theresa had snatched two uneasy hours of tossing and turning on the couch. It had meant Vito still hadn't gotten the truth of her phobia yet, he wasn't so heartless as to disturb her attempts at slumber to talk about her irrational fear of dogs. 

“So the masked assailants followed you then?” John remarked as he grinned at Theresa. It was hard to ignore the stench coming from her and Vito, it was pungent, an abhorrent mixture of fish and sewage with a hint of smoke.

Theresa shrugged. “Maybe or maybe they have a grudge against Vito or maybe they didn't like Benny's, who can say for sure?”

“Ha, that would be a hell of a coincidence,” John scorned. “Not hard to believe that someone else doesn't like Vito mind.”

“That's Mr. Scaletta to you,” Vito interrupted hotly with a scowl.

“But not to her?” John retorted calmly, completely unfazed by the gangster's tone.

“We survived a fire and went swimming together, that earns a first name basis,” Theresa retorted brightly, “and we've met before now.”

John swallowed down the urge to brag about how he knew that, how he knew that Vito had been just twenty-six when he had come to New Bordeaux, banished from Empire Bay under shady circumstances, and Ducks Navarro had been twenty-five and ready to welcome both a fellow immigrant and soldier around his age. Of course Vito had to have met Theresa before now.

“What else did you survive?” John pried. “You want to shed some light on who these crazy people stalking you are?”

“Maybe after I get a shower,” Theresa retorted with a small smile.

A loud knocking on the front door sounded up the hall and they all looked to the doorway Alma blocked instinctively as if somehow they could see the arrival there. Alma uncrossed her arms and headed up the corridor to answer it.

The young Cuban frowned at the latest arrivals as she spied them through the small gap in the door she opened. “My house is going to feel crowded,” she complained. She closed the door, unhooked the chain and reopened it to a banged up Lincoln Clay and an impatient Tommaso 'Tommy' Navarro.

Tommy shoved past Lincoln and Alma to hasten into the house. He gave Alma a frown and snapped, “where is she?”

Alma frowned back as she gazed up at the assassin with an unimpressed brown stare. “Why don't you try asking that a bit nicer?” she suggested.

Tommy muttered a curse in Italian.

“Please Alma,” Lincoln said in a deep, calm voice.

Alma sighed. “Up the corridor, open doorway on the right.”

Tommy charged on without a response.

“God damn Italians,” Alma cursed after him.

Lincoln let out a laugh as he shut the door behind him. “You choose to work for one,” he reminded her.

“Yeah but Vito isn't crazy at least, well most of the time,” Alma replied. “Your friend's here, John, doesn't seem like much use.”

Lincoln grinned and started following Alma up the corridor at a leisurely pace. “He's tougher than he looks.”

When they reached the living room Lincoln let out a swear before he could help it. “What in the fuck is that smell?”

John snickered at this. “Distinctive isn't it?” he remarked.

“Distinctive?” Lincoln repeated in disgust. “Man that fucking reeks. It's like shit soaked in piss!”

Theresa glanced across the couch at Vito. “Do you get the feeling he means us?” she quipped innocently.

Vito gave a half-smile at this and nodded. “I only wish this was the first time I'd experienced being soaked in sewage,” he lamented quietly.

Theresa smiled. “Hmm and there I was fully prepared to take the blame for this but if it's happened to you before...”

Vito turned his head to face her fully with a look of scorn. “Oh no kid, this shit,” he paused and gestured down to his soaked garments, “and I mean that figuratively and literally, is definitely your fault.”

“What the hell happened?” Tommy demanded. “I get a call from Bobby telling me Vito's place is on fire and that you're holed up here.” He paled and his brown gaze darted from Theresa to Vito and then back to Theresa. “Bobby chewed my fucking ass out on the phone,” he swallowed hard and for a moment looked sheepish, “he wasn't happy I left you with Vito last night, now he's even less happy about it.”

Vito waved him off with one hand. “Not your fault Tommy,” he dismissed him.

“No, it was the Ensanglante, isn't that right Theresa?” Lincoln remarked coolly as he took a step forward, putting himself beside Tommy and before Theresa.

Theresa turned her grey gaze up to Lincoln with a purposely cool expression that didn't give away much. “What makes you say that?” she quipped.

“I met them too,” he admitted, “and I've news on Anna.” He paused, noting how Theresa's mouth twitched and her eyes suddenly filled with emotion. “You want to hear about that then you need to share a few things with me.”

“Like what?” she queried sharply.

“Like how in the hell you know me,” Lincoln retorted hotly. He didn't mean to let her know how much it bugged him but he couldn't help it, he'd been racking his brains over it ever since they'd met but nothing had come to mind.

“I'd still like to know about the dog thing,” Vito reminded her, “may as well share everything now.”

Tommaso frowned at this but said nothing, he just kept a worried stare on his sister.

Alma, back in the doorway, looked intrigued as she folded her arms and rested against the chipped wooden door frame.

“You were only about five,” Theresa murmured, “and I was eight. We were the undesirables, you were a black orphan, I was a wayward Italian without a mother. There were a few of us, Danny Burke included, he had his parents but he was Irish so he got lumped in with us all the same.”

“Lumped into what?” Lincoln demanded.

Theresa fixed an irritated stare on him. “Patience alright? I'm getting to it. Shit I wouldn't even tell you if you weren't so persistent. My fault too, I really didn't believe Danny, figured he was lying or you were lying, that there was no way you could've forgotten all that but damn it you did, didn't you? If I'd known I would have never mentioned it. Hmm,” she gave a small, bitter smile, “maybe I did it deliberately, maybe I was jealous you got to forget.” She cocked her head slightly turning her smile lopsided. “Hard to figure out one's motivations sometimes, even I don't always know what I'm thinking.”

Lincoln was a tad unnerved by her smile, he'd seen Ren give the same smile right before he had sliced a man's ears off. 

Theresa placed her hands in her soaked lap causing a squelching sound, which had Tommy's lip curling in disgust and Lincoln wincing a little. “There was a bus for the wayward kids,” she explained, “an act of charity, it would come once a month and take the kids all out together to the bayou where no one could judge. No discrimination, long as you were poor and unlikely to be missed. The kids would play on the beach or amongst the trees, a rare moment of fun for the poor kids of New Bordeaux. Sure, once in a while, maybe not every kid made it back,” she remarked chirpily, “but who knew for sure, no one was ever asking for them and maybe some kids came back quieter but wasn't that a good thing?”  
Lincoln rubbed at the side of his head, one finger pressing against the long scar there where a bullet had grazed him. Theresa's words filled him with dread but nothing else, he couldn't recall any of this.

“One day my dad got really mad with me, he kicked me out to the streets,” Theresa continued, “and I saw the bus. There was a woman standing by it, she spotted me and she waved me over. Smelled like peppermint, had big blonde hair and this wide smile. She took out this dainty little handkerchief with frills and she dabbed it on my lip, I couldn't believe she'd stained such a nice looking with my blood but she didn't mind. Then she invited me on the bus, promised me all sorts of fun. I mean I'd seen the bus before, I knew where it went and I'd always wanted to go so I got on.” 

Theresa fixed an ugly stare on Lincoln. “Fucking stupid I know. I got on and there you were at the back of the bus, you looked shit scared, Danny was there too trying to make friends. I went and I joined you both,” she grinned, “knew how mad it would make my daddy knowing I was on that bus sitting with a Negro, knew he'd be boiled, just made me want to do it more.”

“Glad I could help with that,” Lincoln murmured dryly, “but I don't remember any of this.”

“Nah and I'm not even at the good part,” Theresa mused bitingly. “Bus took us out to the bayou where no one hears you scream excepting the hicks who take you for a bird crying anyway, can't smell the blood over their distilleries either, only the dogs smell that.” She clenched her hands slightly and shuddered. “There was a man, fine Southern gentleman, fat fuck actually, red faced and all but bursting out of his cream suit. Lou Marcano wouldn't have had shit on this man. Turns out he had an unhealthy interest in little boys and that day he was gunning for a particular type. You. That was the whole game, bus full of kids, out to the bayou for the pervs to pick from.”

Lincoln froze up at Theresa's words and suddenly decided he didn't want this memory. 

“Jesus Christ does she have to tell you this?” Tommy demanded.

Lincoln glanced at the older man out of the corner of his eye. He had never seen Tommy appear so uneasy or so pale. Tommy always had a certain energy about him, Lincoln often wondered if it was why he was so enthusiastic when he fought because he didn't know how else to unleash the pent up energy but now it seemed to make him twitchy and unsteady. He fidgeted with his hands and danced from one foot to another as he gazed at Lincoln with a mixture of pleading and anger.  
“It's already happened Tommy,” Theresa said softly, “no changing that, no changing anything in the past.”

“What happened?” Lincoln demanded stiffly as he tensed. Surely something like that he couldn't have just blocked out.

“They tried to lead you from Danny and me,” Theresa answered, “the woman to the fat man. Jesus it didn't feel right, there was another man there trying to urge us all away to play on the beach. The woman complained one was a waste of a journey but the fat man grumbled that he was paying enough for his trouble. She kept trying to shoo us off. He took you by the hand and you started crying, he laughed and said he liked it. I don't know, everything's a bit of a blur, I know the woman hit me, I know I got mad, I know the other man came back, I know he had a knife. The fat man had led you off to the trees.”

Theresa's face seemed to become void of emotion and her stare blank as she continued on in a calm voice. “Danny was yelping, they kept shouting. I got the knife at some point and I ran for the trees. You were on the ground, that fat fuck had hit you hard, he was gonna do something nasty to you so I stabbed him.”

“Jesus,” Vito murmured.

“I remember that, his flesh was soft, the knife went in easy, got stuck, I had to take it out and do it again and again.” Theresa was showing an odd state of tranquillity and her tone became soft and her stare full of fondness as she continued. “There was a lot of blood, I was covered in it. The woman was in hysterics, they left us in the bayou to rot, took the bus with the other kids, the ones who hadn't seen. Covered in blood, happens a lot you know. Danny got on the on bus, he must have told someone who cared. You were unconscious the whole time when they arrived. Bobby came, I remember that. He told me he burned that fat fuck, bet he smelt like pork, they smell like pigs when they burn, don't they?”

Lincoln didn't know what to say, he searched the room uneasily, avoiding Theresa's unsettling stare as he looked in vain for somewhere to sit. He didn't have time for this and he was sorry he'd asked. Hell he was sorry John had ever found the woman and that he hadn't heeded Vito's advice to stay out of it. He didn't know how he was supposed to feel about this. From the sounds of it nothing had actually happened to him but only because a ten-year-old girl had suffered a violent moment of crazy and saved him.  
“What happened to the man and the woman?” John pried. “And who were they?”

“Rich paedos from the French Ward,” Theresa retorted, “that's all Bobby would let me know.” She gave Tommy a glance. “Bobby and Quinn took care of them, Quinn says they died slow. I know the woman turned up dead a week later missing her hands and feet and the bus was burnt out.”

Lincoln shook his head. “I don't remember,” he said flatly, “but I suppose I owe you thanks.”

Theresa shrugged. “Just tell me about Anna.”

“Right.” Back to the present and all his current problems. “She showed up at Sammy's Bar being pursued by these Ensanglante, they were carrying out sacrifices in there. Anna was running from the place but I'm not so sure she got dragged there. She didn't make much sense, just like you, talking about the sky falling.”

Theresa jumped up from the couch with a determined look. “And where is she now?”

“In a safe house with a friend, she doesn't want you to know where.”

“Well God damn it you're gonna tell me anyway!” Theresa snapped furiously.

Lincoln raised his eyebrows at the sudden outburst. “Is that a good idea? They found you at Vito's, what if you lead them to her?” he pointed out.

Theresa scowled at this and trembled slightly as she filled with rage. “Fuck you,” she exclaimed moodily, “that ain't fair.”

Lincoln nodded agreeably. “But it is true. Look she's alright, she's safe and in one piece, my friend won't leave her and I'll keep tabs on her, I promise. I'm going to help with this Ensanglante business and bring it to an end.”

“You won't be doing that alone,” Vito said stubbornly, “they burned my joint down, I will be repaying them for that.”

“Actually they just charred it a little,” John reassured with a smirk, “you can still fry fish there.”

Vito frowned up at the blonde.

“Why don't you two get washed up and we'll work out a plan?” Lincoln suggested. “You can also tell us more about them and this Bonnie person Anna mentioned.”  
Theresa bristled at the name and murmured a curse. “The water's out here,” she complained at last.

“Well you're hardly staying here,” Tommy grumbled, “either of you.” He looked to Vito. “Bobby was clear on that, said I had to bring you both to mine and be a good host.”  
“You don't have to do that,” Vito argued.

“I've got warm water, a shower and a tub,” Tommy retorted.

“You should go Vito,” Lincoln suggested as he waved his left hand before his nose, “you're starting to spoil.”

“Very funny kid,” Vito grumbled.


	6. Family Business

Vito was tense as he sat on the low down couch sipping at a bourbon. He didn't know what to do and he loathed himself for such uncertainty. He knew he was going to have to wait for Lincoln to give him a clue and he hated that. He had unclear feelings towards Lincoln Clay, on the one hand he was glad for the help and the kid had saved his neck but on the other hand Lincoln didn't owe him shit and he knew Vito was dependant on the scraps Lincoln tossed his way. Sure Vito could barter with his men, districts for gun power and all that but Cassandra and Burke had a similar bargaining power. Sitting waiting for Lincoln to ring and report just made Vito's feelings of dependency stronger and it irked at him. He had his own men on the job, Bobby and Quinn were searching for hints of the masked assailants, but Vito knew Lincoln was the one who was going to score pay dirt. Lincoln had that girl Anna and she was talking. Vito had Theresa and she wasn't saying shit. For once Vito wanted to be in control, the burning of his building was an insult and if he let Lincoln answer it he looked weak.

Vito had been at Tommy's for several hours now and had been surprised and a little envious to see the younger Navarro brother had a rather nice looking pad. It was an apartment in Downtown, spacious, modern and clean, it was so immaculate Vito wondered if Tommy hired a maid or had a girl to impress. Even the spare bed Vito had taken a brief sleep in had been comfortable with two plump pillows and a firm mattress. 

Vito held up his bourbon and turned the glass under the spotlights above, he was growing bored and impatient. Theresa had retired to bed five hours ago after her shower and he wondered if she was going to grace them with her presence. Tommy was in the kitchen attempting a late dinner. Vito was alone in the living room beginning to despise the silence he had initially insisted upon.

The kitchen door opened spilling heat and the smell of mince cooking into the living room. Tommy appeared before Vito look uneasy. “Can I get you another drink Vito?” he quipped.

Vito rolled his blue eyes up to the man curiously. He had never seen him this nervous before and wondered if it was because his home was on display for his boss or because his big brother was due to drop by any minute. “I'm good Tommy, thanks,” Vito retorted quietly as he took another sip. “Who do you have to kill to get a place like this?” he quipped humorously. Seeing the odd look Tommy was giving him he realised his blunder. “Ah, you didn't kill someone for this did you?” he queried awkwardly.

Tommy grinned and shook his head. “No, I saved up and Bobby gave me a loan towards the deposit, rent's not bad, even better when Theresa's helping.”

“Does she live here?” Vito asked. He was surprised, there wasn't exactly a feminine touch showing in the place.

“Sometimes,” Tommy murmured as he bowed his head a little, “I wish she'd just move in, it would be easier to keep an eye on her then but she likes her independence.”

“Where does she live?” Vito pried curiously.

Tommy's pale gaze blazed with anger. “She has a place in Downtown too, a rundown open house, I don't even think anyone knows whose name is on the rent,” he complained. “Anna was one of the ones who dropped in and outta it, a waitress, I met her a couple of times, no masked men.”

Vito gave Tommy a scornful stare and queried, “why haven't you mentioned this before about Anna? What the fuck Tommy?”

Tommy shrugged. “Didn't seem relevant, Theresa got involved with these Ensanglante because of Anna, we already knew that, knowing they lived together for a spell doesn't add anything to that.” He frowned and added, “it's Theresa's business to tell.”

“You know you guys are very cagey about your sister,” Vito accused as he sat his now empty glass harder than necessary on the table before him, “why the fuck is that?”

Tommy looked away, turning his stare on the ajar kitchen door. “I've gotta fix dinner.” He moved for the door, pausing as the buzzer to his front door sounded.

Tommy headed for the door slowly, right hand reaching for his Beretta just in case. 

“It's me Tommaso, walk a little faster already,” Bobby's voice snapped impatiently.

Tommy released his gun and quickened his pace. He opened the door and looked up at his brother apologetically. “Can't be too careful Bobby.”

“Yes because leaving Theresa with Vito was real fucking careful cazzo!” Bobby scolded him as he stepped into the apartment.

“That wasn't his fault Ducks,” Vito called out. He was still annoyed with Tommy's evasive nature but he wasn't going to let him get scolded for something he couldn't have helped. “Anyway, I let her stay, I could have said no.” He stood up and turned to face the assassin.

“Evening Vito,” Bobby said wearily as he headed over to the man. He paused and looked to the kitchen. “Fuck Tommy are you trying to burn the food?”

Tommy had the grace to look embarrassed as he hastened for the kitchen.

Bobby glanced at Vito's empty glass disapprovingly.

“He offered Ducks, don't get sore,” Vito assured him. He sat back down on the couch and reached for a pack of cigarettes at his breast pocket. He was wearing a white polo neck with a black collar and grey slacks. The clothes on him along with two more pairs of trousers, a shirt and a brown leather pilot's jacket were all he had left, mercifully spared the destruction of the fire because they had been at the dry cleaner's. Vito tugged out a fresh cigarette before offering the box to Bobby.

Bobby waved the cigarettes off before taking a seat in the single seater on the other side of the couch.

“Any news?” Vito asked as he lit the cigarette.

Bobby shook his head. “They're in the wind,” he grumbled, “or we just can't spot them without their masks.”

Vito nodded. “Any idea why they're so hot to kill your sister?”

Bobby frowned. “Not a clue, something to do with this Anna woman I suppose. I'm sorry about you getting involved,” he added with an apologetic look, “I'll pay for the damages to your place of course and keep Tess outta your hair.” He glanced about the room. “She sleepin'?”

“Yeah and she's not in my hair. Those fucks came to my place and burnt it, it's happened and now I'm involved, until I pay them back I'm staying involved Bobby. So I don't want anymore evasive shit about your sister,” he snapped as he gave Bobby a stern glare, “all these things you guys have kept a lid on. I'm hearing she fucking killed someone at the age of eight in the bayou to stop him molesting a kid, and she fucked her way round Irish Point to save Tommy from the Dixie Mafia, what else don't I know?”

Bobby bristled at the accusations before leaning forward slightly. “It wasn't relevant to you Vittorio,” he said bluntly, “none of it. She's a bad history, I don't like resurrecting it, does her no good. She's been hard to handle from no age, what do you think murdering someone at eight years of age does to a kid? Sure as hell wasn't easy, worse when she'd no mother around. I was sixteen when she was born and I lost my mother, I didn't know damn all about raising a baby girl.”

“Your father no good?” Vito sneered. He was irked by how Bobby addressed him, using his full name as if he were a teacher scorning him.

Bobby's eyes simmered with a quiet fury for a moment. “No, he didn't want her, he made that clear.”

“And where's he at?” Vito continued to pry.

“Dead, been dead for a couple of years.”

Vito frowned again. “You never said Bobby.”

“Why, would you have sent flowers?” Bobby queried as he looked at his superior calmly. “Man didn't deserve it Vito, devil's got him now, he's in hell where he deserves to be.”

“How did Tess take it?”

“Fine,” Bobby answered dismissively. “She's dealt with worse.”

“I've gathered, you want to tell me about the dog thing?” Vito queried with a curious look as he continued puffing on his cigarette. It was a cheap brand and had a bitter taste to it but at this point in his life the Mafia associate didn't care, it still fulfilled his fix. 

“They brought dogs as well as fire you know,” Vito informed Bobby calmly. “She almost screamed at one, nearly gave us up, that's a liability, I'd like an explanation for it.”

“Then I'll give you one,” Theresa's voice spoke up calmly. She had entered the room quietly, barefoot wearing a pleated blue and green plaid skirt with a high collar, short sleeved cream shirt that was tightly tucked into her skirt. Her dark hair was down, styled in a bouffant with a blue headband holding back part of it from her face. Her bruising and cuts had lessened noticeably since John had first found her but her left eye was still marred with green and purple shadowing and her left leg remained bandaged. 

“You won the game Vito, I haven't forgot,” she said softly as she walked forward. She smiled and wiggled her toes against the shag carpet she walked over. “Feels so soft,” she mused with a titter. Her cheeks were flushed and her grey eyes bright as they darted from Vito to Bobby. “Mmm it's too quiet in here.” She came to a halt in front of Vito as Tommy opened the door.

“Hey Tess, good timing,” Tommy enthused, “dinner's ready.

“Good,” she said with a smile as she peered down at Vito, “Bobby can help you set the table.”

“Theresa,” Bobby said in a warning voice.

Theresa held her right hand up without glancing back at her brother. “Vito's waited a while for this story and he's earned it Bobby, we had to swim through shit after almost getting singed. I'm okay with telling it, perfectly fine, promise.” She continued to smile down at Vito.

“What story?” Tommy pried as his eyes flashed with concern.

“About the dogs,” Theresa retorted calmly.

“Passero you'll get upset,” Tommy protested softly.

Theresa turned her smile on her brother. “I'll be fine,” she replied with a dismissive wave, “go set the table, please.”

Bobby stood up and moved to the reluctant Tommy who gazed up at his brother in protest. “If she wants to tell him she wants to tell him,” Bobby grumbled, “let's set the table.” He pushed Tommy back into the kitchen and shut the door.

Theresa sat beside Vito without warning, surprising him as she sank into the sofa with a blissful sigh, occupying the square beside him instead of opting to keep a space. “Now this is cosy,” she murmured as she stretched her arms up before crossing them behind her head. “So you want to know about the dogs, well in the greater scheme of things it's not quite so interesting as murdering a man when I was eight.” She turned her head to face Vito, giving him another smile.

Vito studied the young woman's gaze carefully, it had a glazed look to it as if she wasn't quite focused. “Theresa are you on something?” he pried bluntly.

Theresa let out a giggle. “That's another question, I only owe you the answer to one.” She turned her head forwards again. “I was fourteen, partying at a club in the Hollow. I got drunk, I left and I got picked up by some Dixie Mafia fucks,” she remarked brightly. She waved her right hand before her and let out an ooh noise as she traced invisible shapes in the air with it. “Ren and Quinn had been paid to blow up a few of their distilleries by some of Burke's booze dealers, they didn't like the competition. The Dixie freaks wanted revenge and took me to get it,” she commented dismissively.

“Kid what have you taken?” Vito demanded. “Intrigued as I am maybe you shouldn't tell me this while you're on whatever the fuck you're on.”

Theresa let out another laugh as she grinned at Vito once more. “Relax, I'm still of sound mind,” she paused and pressed one finger to the side of her skull, “well as sound mind as a Navarro can be.” She let out another giggle and dropped her hand to her lap. “Hurts is all, got a good beating in the swamp before I was left for gator supper.”

Vito leaned forward to the glass ashtray on the low table before them and stubbed out his cigarette.

“Anyway,” Theresa continued, “out to the bayou we go, where everyone hides their dirty secrets. Out to some miserable looking huts where the air burned with cheap booze, campfires, a distillery, moonshine and schoolgirls, a hick's wet dream I'm sure.”

“Schoolgirls?” Vito echoed with a look of disgust.

Theresa nodded. “Two of us, I met her when they threw me in the shack with her. She was soaked in blood and absolutely terrified, took me an hour maybe to get her name.” Theresa tensed and turned her gaze to the floor as she shook her head. “It stays with me, she was probably a sweet girl before that night, she was younger than me, twelve at the most. Caroline, she told me they had murdered her mother and grandmother, shot them dead before kidnapping her.”

Vito nodded. “What happened to you and Caroline?” he quipped. He wondered darkly when the dogs were going to come into the story. 

Theresa was waving her hand through the air. “A few things,” she retorted casually, “it was a long night but you want to know about the dogs. Douchet had bred them, these horrible, big, black bastard hounds.” Theresa paused to suck in a nervous breath. She sank both her hands deep into the cushion of the couch beneath her. “Demon dogs, hellhounds maybe, probably made a deal with the devil to breed them, fuck.” She shut her eyes and shuddered. “There was a man called Rusty and he said it would be fun to hunt us in the bayou.”

Vito contemplated offering the young woman some form of consolation but he didn't really know what to do. Every time he thought he had learned the worst about her she surprised him with something new and all he could wonder was how in the hell her brothers had kept this dark history from him. Aged eight and she had murdered a paedophile to save Lincoln Clay of all people, aged fourteen and she suffered the retribution of the Dixie Mafia by being hunted like an animal after her brothers pissed them off, then there was the business with exploiting the Irish to get money to save Tommy from the Dixie Mafia and now, aged twenty-six, she had apparently annoyed some screwed up cult called the Ensanglante in an attempt to help her friend Anna. How the hell did the woman keep finding herself in these shitty situations?

Theresa's eyes snapped open as she hissed out a breath. “That's what they did. They turned us loose and we ran into the swamp. I can still hear the howling, every night I try to sleep but it only happens if I have some pills and wine. I don't know how long we were out there, how long we ran and hid. At one point I almost got sucked up in the mud but Caroline stayed to pull me out.”

Vito felt an odd chill run through as Theresa turned her head painfully slowly in his direction. Her stare was vacant now and her skin so pale her veins almost seemed to glow blue.  
“It was so thick I figured it'd be my grave, it was warm too, I don't know. It took forever to get me out but she did it,” Theresa talked in a dismissive tone as if she was explaining something that had happened to someone else.

Vito was hooked, disgusted too but somehow fascinated by this horrid tale.

“I was out,” Theresa continued bluntly, “drenched and covered in mud but I was out. I tried to get a breath and that's when it came. Out of the darkness, blacker than the night, bigger than a wolf, it crushed her.” Theresa's eyes filled with tears. “It pinned her down and it tore her to shreds, it ate her!” 

Theresa shuddered again and continued in a quieter voice as she turned a serious, haunted look on Vito. “I hear it when it's really quiet, its teeth crunching down on her bones, it's an awful sound I can't forget. I should have helped, I keep thinking it was too late for her. I should have stayed.” She shook her head. “I didn't, I ran. Figured she was already dead but she wasn't.” Her grey gaze turned gloomy. “I wouldn't hear her moans over and over again if she was dead, I wouldn't know what they sounded like.”

Theresa startled Vito by jumping up with a sudden smile. “Well that's all in the past, time for dinner,” she remarked brightly. She hastened to the kitchen door with another giggle, this one nervy and forced, and pushed open the door eagerly.

“Well fuck,” Vito muttered quietly to himself before he stood up and followed.

The kitchen was small and poky but there was a pleasant atmosphere to it even with the odour of burnt cheese and pasta and the remnants of smoke that struggled to slip out the greasy window that was only opened a couple of inches at the top.

“My favourite,” Theresa marvelled as she took a seat at the square table, which was guarded with a repetitively stained, cheap lino cover that was originally patterned red and white checked but had become yellow and brown with wear and tear.

“What is that supposed to be?” Vito quipped bluntly as he gazed at the food apprehensively.

There was a glass dish in the centre of the table containing what was potentially lasagne only it was hard to tell as it was coated in a layer of black and looked a little sloppy. There was also a basket of burnt garlic bread soaked in butter and an open bottle of a deep red wine.

“My favourite,” Theresa repeated happily as she reached for the lifter sticking out of the dish, “Tommy's lasagne.”

Bobby glanced up at Vito apologetically. “He always burns it, Tommaso isn't much of a cook.”

Vito looked back down at Bobby noting how tired the man looked and wondering if he appeared the same. Vito contemplated dryly how hard it must be to be the patriarch of this mad family. 

“Well at least he tries,” Vito answered as he relented and sank into the remaining seat beside Theresa, “that's the important thing.”

Vito winced slightly as Theresa managed to spill contents of sauce and meat all over the table in her effort to serve herself. He looked at her calmly, raised his dark eyebrows slightly and remarked sardonically, “do you need a hand?”

“No I've got it,” Theresa retorted confidently as she managed to get a third of the contents onto her plate.

“Jesus Tess manners,” Tommy scolded her lightly with a small smile, “we've got company eh, try and behave.”

“You're being sacrilegious,” Theresa retorted merrily, “and you haven't served me a drink yet, where are your manners?”

Bobby sighed whilst Tommy stood up and reached for Theresa's empty wine glass obligingly.

“Are you sure about that?” Vito queried as he looked at Theresa pointedly. “You're clearly under the influence of something, you want to add alcohol to that?”

Tommy paused in pouring the wine and glanced at his sister curiously. “What did you take this time?” he queried calmly.

“Just a couple of tablets for the pain, lay off about it,” she scorned.

“What tablets?” Bobby demanded as he jumped up from his chair and glared down the table at her. “I swear to God they'd better be legal Theresa, if you've been getting them off that Irish fuck again,” his stare emptied taking on the pitiless look of death a shark gave, “I will take his head from his shoulders with a God damn saw!” He slammed both his heads down on the table in emphasis to his words.

Theresa didn't even flinch at her brother's outburst, instead she looked to her food calmly and said, “you're spoiling dinner Bobby. I took painkillers, the ones you got me from the pharmacist for the alligator bite, go raid my room if you're that hot about it.”

Bobby let out a moody snarl as he sank back into his seat. “Piantagrane, you make me grey,” he complained.

“Better than bald,” Theresa teased, she was now making faces in her plate with the meat and sauce.

Bobby pushed the half-filled glass of wine towards her. “That's all you get Passero, now be good,” he addressed her warmly.

“Mi dispiace Vito,” Bobby said sombrely as he looked to his boss with an apologetic gaze.

Vito waved him off. “Nothing to be sorry for Ducks.” He caught Theresa reaching for the lifter again and grabbed it before she could. He served her a better sized portion, taking care not to spill any of it as he placed it on her plate before serving himself. He took care to cut off the layer of burnt cheese before mixing the damp meat up as best he could with the still partially hard bits of overcooked pasta.

Theresa stood up and manoeuvred to the radio sitting by the cooker. “We need music.” She turned the radio on and skipped through the stations, muttering a foul curse at the voice of Remy Duvall. She paused hearing Uncle Lou's advertisement and listened to it with intrigue. “You ever taking me for one of those burgers Tommy?”

“Not while that fat fuck's selling them,” Tommy scorned.

Theresa nodded, perking up when a song began to play. “Now that's more like it.” She cranked up the radio, immediately deafening the men with The Supremes' Stop In The Name of Love.

“Turn that off,” Bobby grumbled.

“No,” Theresa retorted as she started to sway along to it and sing, “it's a great song. Think it oooh ooh ver,” she sang out of tune as she danced over to her brother's chair, not letting her injured leg hinder her. “Come on Tommy, give me a spin. Ooh let's go dancing tonight,” she enthused.

Tommy laughed. “Shit Tess you've barely slept, you're wounded and you've got some crazies after you, I don't think dancing's a good idea.” He waved her off as she grabbed his arm and tried to rouse him.

“No point in missing out on life because of a few crazies,” she retorted dismissively. “Stop in the name of love!” she sang dramatically. 

“Turn that down or off and eat your food Theresa,” Bobby ordered sternly.

“None of you are any fun,” she complained. “If they're gonna find me they're gonna find me, I'm not going to put my life on hold for them.” She glanced over at Vito. “You dance Mr. Scaletta?”

“Not in kitchens,” he retorted calmly.

Theresa laughed. “Alright fine, I'll turn it down,” she gave Bobby a frown and added stubbornly, “not off.” She danced back to the radio and turned it down before returning to her seat.

They had their dinner in a jovial manner thanks to the music. It was strange but whilst Vito figured he should be wishing he was anywhere but here he couldn't help but feel an odd sensation of happiness. Theresa and Tommy joked and bickered like schoolkids, winding up Bobby when he tried to admonish them. Tommy even shared a few humorous tales of Bobby's younger days before a glower silenced him.

It was only when the meal ended and Tommy and Theresa shared dishwashing duties which involved soaking each other that Vito realised what it was about the setting that appealed to him. It was being with family, something he had never quite forgotten and sorely missed. He had left his only sibling Francesca on bitter terms. After beating her husband for his infidelities, Frankie had inexplicably taken the sorry asshole's side and failed to speak to Vito since. He had contemplated writing to her or ringing her but he figured her life was better without him. Besides, his making contact with anyone in Empire Bay was against the rules and he certainly didn't want Frankie dead on account of his heartache. She was older than him, approaching her fifties now and he wondered if she'd ever had the guts to leave her husband, maybe she'd gotten lucky and the bastard had keeled over from a heart attack. Vito wondered if she had kids, hell they wouldn't even be kids now anymore if she had, they'd be teens probably, nieces and nephews he knew nothing about who probably knew nothing of him.

Vito shrugged off his memories and woes and headed out of the kitchen to the living room with Bobby to share an idle drink of bourbon and discuss business. Bobby vowed to find the Ensanglante but they both knew it was a waiting game Lincoln would end first. Vito's mood sullied again as he was reminded of how weak he was in his position over the Italian gang and how desperately dependant he was on Lincoln Clay. He needed another district, he needed control, power and people , maybe then he could help his people better, make it so no one had to suffer the way Theresa had and make it so Lincoln didn't have such a burden on his shoulders. Good as Lincoln was he was only twenty-three, no one that young should have the burdens he did, why was it he and Theresa carried so much? Looking at Bobby, Vito realised stonily that they had failed the younger generation. They had to fix it, Lincoln and Theresa had missed out on enough already, they should be off getting married and having kids without looking over their shoulders all the time. Vito frowned, it was a daft thought, they both vengeance and so did he and until it was satiated nothing else mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what keeps me going with this fic but I have a lot of fun writing it. I know the story of Caroline's death by dogs was supposedly a lie as hey the Dixie Mafia couldn't be hunting people with dogs and getting away it but I liked it so I combined that and then supposed truth of her getting gunned down with her grandmother and mother because her grandmother destroyed a distillery. Fact is, Cassandra isn't know for telling the truth so it could all be lies. My version is the Dixie Mafia weren't hunting people for dogs, they just make an exception one drunken evening for the two girls they had hostage- Caroline and Theresa and since only Theresa lived to talk about it, no one really bought into it.


	7. Clubbing with the CIA

“John I think I see trees.”

“Trees?”

“Oh Jesus John did we not get home after all?”

“What? Shit Lincoln you're not making sense.”

A horrible laugh was John's answer before the phone line went dead. He looked at the receiver in anger before slamming it hard against the wall with a curse. He really didn't want to go out tonight, it was murky and drizzly and he knew he was only going to be heading for trouble but he couldn't ignore the call. He snatched his pistol off the littered coffee table before him and stood up. As he placed the gun into his holster he hurried out the door of his motel and into the humid, damp night. He ran down the metal steps noisily and raced over to his recently restored Potomac Independent.

The car was immaculate and despite John's best efforts to spy a missed stain of blood he couldn't. Hell it didn't even have his odour of cigarettes and bourbon anymore, which he considered surprising given who had fixed it. He figured sardonically that if Hank was this good at his trade then Theresa could do worse.

The CIA agent screeched off into the night heading from Delray Hollow towards Downtown. He turned off the radio in frustration as he drove and cursed several times. Why the hell hadn't he talked Lincoln out of this mad mission? Wasn't dealing with Marcano's shit enough? The blonde blamed Vito for this, the fallen Mafioso was hot for revenge on the Ensanglante after they'd burned his restaurant and he'd only encouraged Lincoln's desire to wipe them out. And where was Vito in all this? He was meant to be with Lincoln damn it!

John knew he was going to have to get help, loathe as he was to delay going to Lincoln. He didn't know this Nuit Blanche Lincoln had ventured to and he wasn't going to charge in blind, that was how you got killed. 

“Night club my ass,” he muttered to himself, “just gonna do some dancing and investigating, yeah sure thing Lincoln. Should've known it was something more than a hippie hole. Should've pressed Tessie for answers but oh no, Anna says it's the place to go so that's where I'll go,” John mimicked Lincoln's bass tones to himself. “Wouldn't do to get some more intel, would it Lincoln? Shit that's my job,” John grumbled to himself. “Fuck, like digging up shit on Marcano and his friends isn't a full-time job by itself, who has time for this cult nonsense?”

It felt like an eternity before John's orange car arrived in Downtown with a dramatic thump as it flew over a low hill and landed on the tarmac with an unpleasant bump before continuing on its journey. He ran a red light and a stop sign without a care before occupying the final parking space on the main street at his destination. He was a well-dressed, white, blonde, middle aged American, the kind of person the local cops tended to turn a blind eye too unless Marcano ordered otherwise. 

Impatient and thoroughly fed up, John got out of the car and fumbled to light a cigarette and simultaneously cross the road. Reaching the apartment block across the road, he hurried into it and ran up the stairs. 

Arriving at apartment 16b, John banged on the door angrily before taking a deep puff on his cigarette. “It's John, hurry up,” he called as he heard the familiar click of a gun.  
“John who?” Theresa's voice retorted suspiciously.

“John I didn't give you a fucking surname and I've no time for this shit,” he snapped. “Lincoln's friend,” he added reluctantly. Given his career choice he couldn't knock someone for wanting to be secure.

“Oh taxi driver John,” she replied happily.

John bristled and murmured a curse as he took another puff. If he had to have a nickname that sure as hell wasn't going to be it.

There was a jingle of a chain and the sliding of locks before Theresa and her pistol nozzle greeted John. 

“Really?” he quipped as he looked back at her calmly.

The dark haired woman shrugged before lowering the gun. “Could be here under duress couldn't you?” she remarked calmly. “You do sound stressed.” 

“Ha ha, stressed,” he retorted sarcastically. “Hey Tess do you happen to know where Lincoln and Vito the fishmonger are this evening?”

Theresa chuckled at this. “Fishmonger, that's unfair, that side of business is shut down for a while.”

“Burned down you mean,” John grumbled. 

Theresa frowned slightly as if she considered John's words to be a personal accusation. “I don't know where their business took 'em this time,” she replied moodily, “Tommy said something about clearing out Tickfaw Harbour now that Pagani guy's dead. I don't know, Quinn said they gotta be careful for Tommy Marcano.”

John sighed and shook his head. “It's your mess but they keep you out of it, very good, very fucking good Lincoln. Always protecting the women.” He took a deep draught on his cigarette and gave Theresa an irritated look. “They're at Nuit Blanche,” he said bluntly.

Theresa paled slightly as her eyes widened. “Shit.”

John nodded. “Exactly. I got a call from Lincoln and it didn't sound good so I've got to go there but I don't want to charge in blind to some place I don't know.”

“No, they'd see you coming a mile away,” Theresa murmured softly.

“Hey I have skills in covert operations you know,” John replied defensively.

Theresa nodded. “Sure but you'd still stand out like a sore thumb, clean businessman, not the usual clientèle and you don't have a card for access. You need to blend in, especially when you're going to be outnumbered.”

“I'm always outnumbered,” John replied confidently, “nothing new there starshine.”

Theresa smiled at this. “Starshine huh, I like that.”

“Good, I'll make a note of that,” John said sarcastically. “We're wasting time here and you're listing problems not solutions.”

Theresa pushed back a strand of her dark hair and glanced about the apartment awkwardly before muttering, “fuck. I'll go get changed, two minutes.”

“What?” John gaped at her in disbelief.

“Well one of us has to look the part,” she snapped at him before walking off.

“Um the part for what?” John called after her.

“Getting into the club,” Theresa replied as she continued on her way to her room.

John glanced at his watch and cursed again before entering the apartment and heading over to the ashtray on the coffee table that Vito had filled. As he waited he wondered why none of the Navarro brothers was in sight. He didn't think any of them had gone with Lincoln though he figured he could be wrong about that.

When Theresa returned she was dressed appropriately for a night club. She had on high, black leather boots, a gold sequinned mini skirt, a black, low cut, tight fitting top that had short, flared sleeves and was knotted to show off her stomach, a gold bandanna knotted about her neck and gold hoop earrings. Her hair was down in a bouffant style, pushed back hastily with a black headband, her make-up was minimal and she was fidgeting with a handbag over her shoulder.

John stared at the sequins and commented bluntly, “they're going to get all over my car.”

Theresa shrugged. “Be the first time a man's complained about my skirt coming undone in his car,” she retorted deadpan with a teasing smile and a beguiling stare.  
“Hey where are your brothers?” John queried quickly as he avoided retorting to her suggestive remark. 

“Well Tommy went out to get a takeaway so I'm going to write a note for him and then we're gonna run cause he ain't gonna let me go.”

“Just make sure it's clear I didn't kidnap you,” John muttered as he lit another cigarette and moved towards the door.

Theresa scribbled a note out hastily and left it on the coffee table before heading after John. She shut the door, locked it behind her with a key and then gestured for John to lead the way down to his car. 

They reached the car with ease and got into it hastily before Tommy could spot them. John frowned pointedly as two sequins hit the floor at Theresa's feet. 

“Alright, what do you know about this club?” John demanded as he started up the engine.

“It's invitation only,” Theresa retorted calmly, “you need a card to get in, something we're going to have to nick off someone else in the queue. They search you too, so you aren't getting any guns in there. Then...I don't know.” She sagged back in a seat as her brow furrowed in confusion. “I've only been once, night before you found me.”

“Well come on then,” John said impatiently as he looked her way, “it wasn't that long ago.”

“No but...I was pretty drunk,” Theresa admitted, “and there was something else, I felt kinda hazy there, there's a lot of the night I can't remember and other stuff that don't make sense. Anna talked about the sky fallin', she said that's what caused it but I don't know what that means. I tried to warn Lincoln except it don't make sense to me so how can it make sense to him.”

“Well that's just fucking great,” John complained.

“Park here, few blocks away,” Theresa instructed as she gestured ahead with her left hand, “your car's bright orange, not very subtle.”

“It was fine for you in the swamp land of the murdering hillbillies,” John snapped defensively.

“Don't get sore,” Theresa retorted, “your car's lovely, honest but if we step out of it right at the door and someone then asks what getaway car did we have they're gonna remember bright fucking orange,” she finished sarcastically.

John gave her an unpleasant stare even as he complied with her request and took a spot beside an unremarkable closed clothes shop. “This is your fault you know,” he said sullenly.

“How, did I hold a gun to Lincoln's head and say go off to a dangerous nightclub you don't know with a mob boss who hasn't even been to a club in twenty years?” she retorted sardonically. “Did I get his friend to find Anna? Shit I don't even think I'm the one told him about Nuit Blanche, fact is I kept shut about it because I didn't want him wandering here. Didn't want Vito here either,” she added quietly.

John raised his eyebrows slightly at this. “Specifically Vito hmm?” he quipped tauntingly.

Theresa tensed and gave John a frown. “Let's just go do this. Now, try and blend in, you look like a square, best we act like maybe we're a new couple and I've brought you here to try it out, then they might buy into your doesn't fuckin' belong businessman look.”

John sighed and shook his head. “Lincoln you are going to owe me big for this,” he grumbled.

“Don't forget to lose the guns,” Theresa ordered sternly. “They ain't normal bouncers, it's a full body search.”

John cursed and only when Theresa continued to frown his way did he surrender two of his pistols to the glove compartment. He didn't bother with the small gun strapped against his lower right leg under a sock or the knife in a secret pocket in his blazer, no one ever found them.

The pair got out of the car and with an obvious reluctance John linked arms with Theresa and escorted her down the street to Nuit Blanche.

Getting the cards for entry was painfully easy. Theresa signalled out two drunk women standing nervously in the queue and joined them with ease. It didn't take long for Theresa to separate them from the queue like a lioness cutting off the weak zebra foals from the herd. She brought them to John, introducing them to him with a suggestive smile. While they giggled and fluttered their eyes at John Theresa quickly stole the pink flowered cards they had flashed at her earlier. Neither noticed the swift pocket picking and were clueless when Theresa grabbed John by the hand and made a show of hearing 'her song' playing within before pulling him on to the notorious club.

From the outside it didn't stand out from any other run of the mill night club. It had the expected neon lights, red at the edge of the windows, blue for the tacky sign, a black and white striped awning to merit it some respectability during the day, tinted windows to hide the shame and add an enticing mystery, the sweet stench of liquor and puke promising a fun night, and the latest hits pounding out through the walls.

As promised the two bouncers, both tall, muscular surly looking men, offered up a full bodied search at the door after scrutinising the cards through a door slot that John felt was becoming a little tacky and overused in this day and age. Speakeasies were gone and a postbox spy hole wasn't going to offer much protection from the law these days so what was the point?

“Jesus even the police don't get so personal,” John complained as he was searched, earning a scowl for his troubles.

John was unimpressed as he watched the other bouncer's hands climb higher than necessary up Theresa's skirt.

“Honey I can fit a lot up there but not both your hands,” Theresa scorned the bouncer with a biting smile.

John snickered at this and was rewarded with another pat down. He was amused when he was finally granted entry to the club with his small gun and knife still on his person.  
The lobby was a disappointing shit hole. Brick walls, black tiled floor, one pathetic coffee table with a single dying plant to offer some furnishings, a white neon sign advertising the name of the club unnecessarily and a young bored woman ready to check for coats behind a counter whilst gesturing tiredly to a single door and groaning out to patrons, “club's down there.”

John figured as Theresa pulled him to the door that the lobby was probably another element of daytime respectability. It figured the bulk of the club was downstairs so the noise could be subdued from residents of the neighbourhood above. It also meant they could get away with more, if any cops were to come sniffing then upstairs would alert them and they would have time to conceal whatever they needed to before the cops could make it downstairs.

They headed past tie-dye styled neon wall art and hooded red lamps, bypassing club goers drinking, dancing, gossiping and smoking in the hallways lingering near tables as the viewed the dancefloor over a low brick wall. The club was a maze of corridors and staircases with wide passageways offering a hexagonal balcony that viewed the dancefloor. There were numerous sitting areas- booths, low tables and high tables with stools and chairs and two bars. The club itself was full of smoke and noise, smoke machines from unseen sources kept the place in a haze, disco lights coloured it pink and music pounded out from speakers in the walls. The whole place was disorienting.

John didn't even know where to begin. Women danced in cages, groups of hippies sat at tables littered with candles sharing hookahs. The dance floor, which had two tiers, was full of activity and the bars were hiving. There was a huge area that consisted of leather lounges, Persian styled rugs and large tables in the corners with cushions and beanbags offering a communal area for snorting and smoking drugs. The place was too warm, the blonde was starting to sweat and he couldn't hear much over the buzz of music and chatter.

“Maybe we should split up,” John suggested. He paused to push his right hand through his hair causing it to spike up with the sweat. He released Theresa's hand, shrugged off his blazer and draped it over his right arm. “You look for Vito and I'll look for Lincoln.”

Theresa looked up at the blonde wearily. “I don't want to go on another trip to the swamp,” she muttered.

John glanced at his watch, it was just after ten. He took in their surroundings and spied the double doors to the toilets opposite them. “Alright, we'll meet outside the toilet doors in fifteen minutes,” he suggested. “You don't show then and I'll come look for you,” he offered. “Come on, this is a big place, they could be anywhere.”

Theresa sighed before nodding. “Alright, fifteen minutes.”

They separated, John heading for the toilets first in the hopes that Lincoln had holed up in a booth.

Theresa did her best to blend in, moving in time to the beat of the music with a smile on her face, trying to appear as if she didn't have a care in the world. She couldn't recall why this club was so secretive and you needed a card to get in. Could everyone be a potential Ensanglante candidate? Did they understand what that meant at this point? She had a vague recollection of Bonnie, charming and cruel. A bony finger pressing against Theresa's chin as she tutted, smiled and shook her head before saying, “this rat won't do, she's not Filth but she's not Well-Born.”

Theresa shrugged off the memory as she headed out of the main dance room and into a small bar room with a couple of pool tables. Her grey gaze turned serious as she spied a familiar figure leaning against a pool table. He had a hand raised to his forehead, fingers deep in his dark hair as they messed it up. His trademark grey hat was missing and Theresa found herself hoping it wasn't lost as she strode towards him.

Theresa stopped before the gangster, taking in his untidy state as he finally lowered his hand. His right eye was bloodshot and the skin marred with swelling promising a bruise, it looked fresh but was the only injury noticeable on him.

“Did you have a bar fight already Vito?” she quipped calmly.

“Joe,” he murmured, “he said he wasn't Joe but he sure looked like him.” He glanced at Theresa but didn't seem to see her as he gave a crooked smile. “I keep seeing him about here but he won't talk to me.”

Theresa frowned as she took in his glazed, unfocused stare. “Hmm.” She raised both her hands and pressed her palms against the sides of his head and pulled his head down so his face was level with hers. “Vito I know it's gonna be fucking hard because you're on whatever shit it is they dope people with in here but I really need you to pull your shit together,” she said sternly. “This is a bad place and I don't want to go swamp diving again.” She gave his head a jerk. “Do you hear me Vito? It's Theresa. You and Lincoln should never have come here.”

“Sure Tess, little Tessie, you were what, nine when I came to town? Already killed someone. I didn't pay enough attention to you, I should've. Bet you didn't think much of me either, washed up has been, banned from the big boys.”

Theresa gave a small smile as she released Vito and let her hands drop by her side. “I noticed you,” she murmured, “you got everyone together, you made something out of nothin'.”

“Aww you noticed,” he mused brightly, “that's nice.” He waved to a young hippie male with a thick crop of curly dark hair. “Hey Joe she noticed! You hear, a woman noticed me first for a change.” He let out a laugh, ignorant to the man's expression of confusion. “Ah Joe you'll still go home with two or three won't you.” He gestured outwards to the club. 

“Freddy's is bigger, I thought I saw Henry.” He paused and shuddered. “His eyes wouldn't stop bleeding.”

“Vito that isn't Joe,” Theresa said as she gripped his right hand.

Vito looked at her hand in surprise and then glanced up at her. “He had no eyes kid but somehow he kept staring at me.”

“It wasn't real,” Theresa retorted.

“Oh it was once.” Vito's expression turned serious for a moment before he looked about in puzzlement. “Are you real Tess?”

She smiled again and nodded. “Yeah, don't you think you'd imagine someone better than me?”

Vito reached out with his free hand and pressed one finger against the tip of her nose. “Real enough.”


	8. Clubs, Drugs and Guns

Theresa could see John and Lincoln at the other side of the dance floor. She pulled Vito along awkwardly, trying to move the dazed Italian through the crowds. She paused as The House of the Rising Sun started playing. The dance floor was clearing but she couldn't fathom why. Her eyes widened as a brunette woman in a long, flowing, white dress took centre stage flanked by two wild looking women in jeans and loose vest tops. She appeared like a sacrifice ready to be offered to the audience but Theresa knew better, this woman was deadly.

Vito felt the small hand clutching his tighten and turn to ice. The jarring sensation was an oddity in the fog of his mind. Pink fog falling, the Sky spilling at someone's command. Vito shook his head, pressing his free hand to his brow as he felt a sharp stabbing pain there. He could hear Joe's mocking voice and his laugh but then he could see him too, his confused face staring out a car window at Vito.

The woman on the stage offered her audience a wide, contagious smile. “Good evening New Bordeaux,” she greeted in a voice that was loud but not aggressive with an accent full of old French-Southern charm and wholesome snobbery. “Welcome to Nuit Blanche, a place for you restless souls. The unsettled who can find no peace in the night except for here. I'll give you peace.” She stopped as her dark gaze fell on Theresa and her smile widened. “You know my blood gave birth to this city. Owned it. We tried to hold it but humanity is doomed and we need to find another way.” 

Vito felt a pang of pain as Theresa almost cut off the blood circulation in his hand. He shook his head and cleared the remnants of the fog. “God damn,” he muttered crossly under his breath. He remembered people chanting for Sky followed by a hissing noise from the vents and then an odd sensation of surrealism. He realised that he and Lincoln and a good percentage of people in this club had been drugged.

Bonnie stepped down off the stage delicately, one barefoot at a time. The crowd parted for her with ease save for two mean looking women and men who followed behind her in pairs. She stopped before Theresa, locking eyes with her as her smile filled with menace. “Well, well,” she purred, “it looks like one of the lost has returned.” She raised her right hand slowly, moving it up towards Theresa's face.

A low click sounded out as a gun was taken off its safety. 

“That's far enough Bohemia bitch,” Vito remarked in a tone both cheerful and warning as he smiled at Bonnie.

Bonnie's gaze filled with ire as she frowned momentarily at the gun in Vito's right hand before fixing a smile back on her face. “My, my how did a filthy wop get in here?” she quipped quietly. “And with a gun too.”

“Probably because your security are sexist pigs,” Theresa snapped, “he's not the only male got in here with a gun meanwhile I barely got in with my silk panties in tact.”

Vito winced slightly at this as he pulled Theresa back, moving her out of Bonnie's grasp. “You've always had a way with words Tess,” he mused. “What the hell are you even doing here? You shouldn't be here.”

“No you shouldn't be here,” Theresa retorted hotly, keeping her gaze fixed on Bonnie as she did.

“Let's talk about that later,” John piped up as he and Lincoln both finished manoeuvring to stand at the back of Bonnie's entourage. 

John was armed with his gun looking frustrated and impatient whilst Lincoln had a large looking knife in his grasp and bore a vague haziness in his eyes. 

“I'm sure if Vito thinks you've been naughty Tess he can let you know,” John added with a taunting smile.

“Oh good, you brought the civil servant,” Vito grumbled.

“And look, he got in with a gun too,” Theresa complained as she gestured to John with one hand. She shook her head scornfully. “Ain't no equality for women.”

“You know this charade is fun ma cherie,” Bonnie addressed Theresa in a sweet voice, “but the evening is late and I've no more time for it. I assume if you're here you missed us, does Anna miss us too?”

“I wouldn't tell you shit about Anna,” Theresa spat out hatefully. She caught a whiff of Bonnie's flowery perfume and felt a wave of nausea. 

Bonnie gave a delicate shrug at this. “Maybe you can tell the dogs then,” she retorted merrily with a sweet smile, “or the swamp gators.”

Theresa broke free from Vito and went for Bonnie with a wild shriek. She moved fast, punching the older woman hard in the left cheek before driving her back into her entourage giving them the chance to pounce.

The bodyguards scrambled to seize Theresa away from Bonnie as the women spilled to the floor and Theresa delivered another punch.

There was a loud ratatata of gunfire causing a few of the crystals from the chandelier above and dust and debris from the ceiling to rain down. Everyone started screaming and made to run until someone yelled out from above. “FUCKIN STILL EVERYONE OR I'LL SHOOT YA ALL DEAD!”

John and Lincoln looked up to the chandelier in mild surprise, both recognising the crazy Southern twang instantly. Renzio Navarro was standing precariously on the large chandelier clutching his faithful tommy gun tightly and pointing it warningly down at the crowd whilst his other hand clung to the stem of the light.

“Is that real?” Lincoln queried dubiously as he wondered if he was still suffering the side effects of whatever drug was pumped through this club.

“Unfortunately,” John answered dryly. “You know I had to put some effort into getting a gun in here,” the agent lamented, “how the fuck did he get in with that?”

“Did you kill the doorman?” Lincoln quipped calmly.

John frowned as he glanced at his friend. “Good point,” he said sardonically, “I should have made a scene from the start. Nothing says subtly and tact like blasting off a tommy gun from a chandelier. I'm sure the police are tearing up the strip right now to respond to this.”

Lincoln smiled. “You've got to give the guy credit for even getting up there.” Lincoln gazed up to the swinging chandelier and its burden with admiration. 

Bonnie wiped a spatter of blood from her chin before glowering up at Theresa distastefully. Vito had the young woman back in his grasp and was holding her tight against him with his left arm whilst his right hand kept his gun nozzle pointed carefully at Bonnie.

“Woo some real fucked up shit underground!” Quinn Navarro's voice called out cheerfully. There was the loud sound of feet running up stairs before he surfaced with two pistols aimed and ready for the bouncer who had moved to confront him. “Easy now motherfucker, you back up real slow. I already took care of ten of you freaks down underground.” He let out a snicker. “Good for them though, saves you having to bury them.”

“Lincoln I'm sorry to ask but I'm clearly a step behind here, what the fuck is going on?” John quipped bluntly.

“Vito suggested it,” Lincoln retorted calmly. “We came in the front, these guys found a back way in. We looked on top, they looked below. There I thought they'd missed all the fun,” he added dryly.

Bonnie's chest heaved up and down as she breathed fast and heavy in aggravation. It was all she could do not to scream out her frustrations. She fixed another ugly stare on Theresa before letting out a sigh, pushing back her hair and standing gracefully to her feet. “Look at the violence the Filth and his friends bring here!” Bonnie cried out, addressing the terrified crowd of onlookers. “Violence, blood and death and yet they act like we are the evil rotting this world.” She faced Theresa and extended out a hand again, not even flinching as Vito gestured to her threateningly with his gun. “Ma cherie I understand, you have no real place in this world. You told me, don't you remember?” Bonnie kept her stare on Theresa's uneasy grey gaze, her voice soft and saccharine as she suppressed her rage and forced out charm. “You keep hurting, you and Anna, you both feel alone, unwanted and without purpose but she is the Blessed, she has her purpose and a great one it is. 

You, you're just in the way ma cherie, holding back her potential but it's alright. I offered you a release from that and I promise I can still give it to you. Les chiens want you, it's your destiny perdu un, they'll chase you into the darkness but they'll end it for you too. You keep leaving others to their jaws but their sacrifice is only temporary, the hounds want you Theresa and they will get you. Isn't it better if you just come to them?” Bonnie looked down to her open palm pointedly.

“Lady shut the fuck up,” Vito snapped, “or I will shut you up. God, you sound like Cassandra on a good day, think if you keep prattling on it's somehow meaningful. Do you practice voodoo shit too?”

Quinn laughed. “Close to it Vito, she's got all sorts of ritual shit going on downstairs.” 

“None of you are getting out of here alive,” Bonnie threatened.

Quinn moved towards them, sparing his sister a look of disapproval. “Shit Tess, Bobby is none too happy about you being here.”

Theresa didn't register her brother's gaze or words. She was staring in Bonnie's direction but her gaze was vacant and her entire body had gone ice cold despite the heat of the club.

“How's he know she's here?” Vito quipped.

“Tommy,” Quinn explained calmly, “came racing in through the basement entrance in a panic, blew our surprise stupid bastard. Maybe it's a good thing.” He looked to Bonnie with a wild smirk. “He and Bobby should almost be finished fixing that error.”

There was the sound of yelling and gunfire from somewhere below and then without warning a loud burning roar that caused the floor to shake and the walls to tremble. Part of the floor caved in and flames appeared from below as if a literal hellhole had opened. Black smoke plumed up to choke at the lungs and create the perfect cover for Bonnie.  
With a curved dagger out in hand Bonnie lunged forward for Theresa but the young woman was ready and rewarded her with a high kick to the stomach.

Winded, Bonnie felt back with a gasp of pain. Alarmed and wary of Vito's gun, she rolled along the floor through the smoke and righted herself quickly before she was trampled by panicking people.

Everyone was screaming and cursing. Bodies rushed too close together and people fell and were instantly crushed beneath feet. Others were unlucky enough to be burned or to fall through the weakened floorboards. 

Voices trying to sound authoritative sounded out accompanied by torchlight letting everyone know that the police had arrived.

“Too soon you asshole, too soon!” Bobby's disembodied voice was heard chiding someone loudly.

“Well this is quite the fuck up,” John sneered.

Lincoln smiled until he spied the cops descending, then he shook his head and said sternly, “we need to go.”

No one knew which way to run, the stairwells were blocked as too many people rushed them and became squished. Some went up, some went down and others had the misfortune to be toppled over the railings. All the while the smoke continued to irritate and burn at their throats and lungs and the flames devoured the wooden walls and floors. There was coughing, cursing and crying overpowering the music coming out crackled through damaged speakers.

“This way,” Quinn urged Vito and the others, “before we get cooked. Tommy always lets them go off too soon.”

“The women must hate that,” John joked.

Quinn gave the blonde an ugly look. “Anyone else and I mighta laughed at that,” he admitted.

“Is that some good old fashioned prejudice?” John mocked him.

“John not now,” Lincoln begged as he pushed the blonde along. “Got to be a certain irony to a white blonde boy talking about prejudice,” he scolded.

Quinn led them close to a wall before mounting onto a bar's counter to evade the crowds. He walked over glasses and spillages with ease, pausing to return gunfire to a cop effortlessly. 

Vito scowled as the close range shooting filled his ears with an irritating ringing.

They headed along the edge of the room until they reached a tall mirror which Renzio was at, stabbing at it with his tommy gun violently. His dark hair was askew and he had blood spatters on his grey shirt but apart from that he looked no worse the wear from his adventures on the chandelier.

Quinn moved to help his brother destroy the mirror, quickly revealing a hidden room. “Swiftly now,” Quinn ordered as he stepped through first.

The room was small with a single door at the back, metal cannisters including one linked up to a pipe through the wall hinted at its purpose.

“Fucking Sky,” Lincoln cursed as he stepped through. He frowned over at Theresa and snapped, “you could've warned me. The sky falling isn't much of a clue.”

Theresa frowned back at him. She still looked troubled and uncertain about what was going on. “I would have if I had remembered it,” she snapped. “I don't remember too much about the evenin' and I don't wanna, I made it clear you shouldn't be involved, didn't I?!”

BANG! Renzio shot off the lock on the door and kicked the door open to a narrow staircase that led up. The noise of the gun cut off Lincoln's retort to Theresa. The ex-soldier decided silence was better and instead headed for the door.

There was the sound of gunfire behind them and the panicked crowd that was attempting to follow them suddenly dispersed. “That's right, flee like the fucking flock you are!” Bobby called out angrily. “Devil's gonna get you fuckers!”

Tommy stepped through with a tired gaze and a smudged face. He gave Theresa a scornful look and shook his head. 

They all headed up the staircase to the first floor where Ren smashed up a window granting them escape to the sweetly scented fresh air of the evening. They dropped out of the building one by one to a dark alleyway which wasn't too far below. Hiding low in the shadows they took their chance t o slip past the cops by merging with the crowd of escaping club goers.

“See, just as well you parked further away,” Theresa called over to John, “lot of people here to remember bright fucking orange.”

“Yeah I think they might remember someone shooting from a chandelier and someone else blowing up the place before they think of me,” John retorted dryly.

“You brought the orange car?” Lincoln quipped as he gaze at his friend with a teasing scorn. “Man what's wrong with you?”

“I was in a hurry Lincoln, don't be grateful,” John snapped back, letting his fatigue and irritation slip into his voice.

“I am but come on, we fought in a jungle, you know what camouflage is,” Lincoln pointed out. He was sweating hard and still tasting the remnants of smoke and Sky. His vision was better focused at least, no longer jumping or blurring. He was suddenly grateful for the city polluted, swamp heated air of New Bordeaux, sure it was warm and sullied with the stench of car fumes and sun boiled mud but it tasted a lot better than the poisoned air of Nuit Blanche.

“We need to split,” Bobby ordered. “Tommy, you take Vito and Theresa and make sure you lock your apartment door and hide the key from her. Quinn and Ren, you're with me, Lincoln you can go with your friend here.”

Bobby had resisted the urge to yell at Theresa though he had given her a few steely stares. He had been occupied with hastily dismantling his gun and pocketing what pieces he could. 

“Sure, let's do what Captain Insane says,” John grumbled. 

“I'm the fucking captain, he's the lieutenant and you'll do what he says because we don't have time to argue,” Vito growled out.

John flashed him a shit eating grin. “Sure Vito, whatever you say, you're Captain Insane then.”

Lincoln snickered at this and Quinn hid a smile.

The group divided as per Bobby's instructions, heading for the separate cars. 

John took off speedily, reasoning that the cops weren't going to suspect the driver of a flashy orange car as being an arsonist. He suggested to Lincoln going back to his motel room and Lincoln agreed. Lincoln figured Vito would be returning to Tommy's and that they could reconvene tomorrow and discuss what the Navarro brothers had learned then.  
Lincoln wasn't quite ready to confess it to John but he was embarrassed, he had been drugged unwittingly despite Theresa and Anna's garbled attempts to warn him and he hadn't exactly discovered much. Whatever had been learned tonight had been learned by the insane Italian brothers.

John, reading the exhaustion on Lincoln's face, knew there was no point enquiring about the night's events until tomorrow after they had all had some sleep.

As John drove, Lincoln wondered dully how deep through New Bordeaux Bonnie's cult ran. Had it affected anyone in the Hollow apart from the unfortunates in Sammy's Bar. What about Irish Point? The woman had an ire for folks not supreme Southern beaus and belles but she didn't quite despise anyone as much as the blacks. Lincoln realised he was probably better bringing Burke and Cassandra in on this. The pair were bound to know about the incident in Vito's base and it was only a matter of time before they worked out that Vito and Lincoln were on a side mission of revenge. Knowing Cassandra she would spit fire about Vito's personal shit taking away importance from the Marcano business, missing the irony that the Marcano business was personal for all of them. Burke would probably be mad too since Bonnie's business was entangled with Theresa, one of the Italians who had robbed his men.

The young man sighed and figured this was the burden of leadership, trying to force unity on his team when they were against each other and making all the hard decisions. He didn't like it but if it rid New Bordeaux of Bonnie and her ilk then it was worth the headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So game wise most of you probably got out of the club just fine with Lincoln as the solo bad ass he did. Me, I was hopeless without the Navarro brothers :-)


	9. Eating Out

Lincoln couldn't decide if a haunted plantation was the perfect place to meet or the worst. Sure it offered solitude and security given no one wanted to come near it but it was also a rundown, dark, pest filled hole with a constant sense of unease and despair. He wondered how anything positive could come out of a place tied to such woe. Known as Eaglehurst Plantation, a place of eight deaths with a mysterious history, it currently served as the meeting ground for Lincoln and his underbosses. 

The quartet occupied a large, grim room on the ground floor, making a war table of the dusty mahogany dining table. Vito had occupied the only in tact comfortable chair, one of maroon velvet and gold studs which prompted Cassandra to complain that he was acting like a king in his throne. Cassandra had to make do with a collapsible metallic chair that had been brought in as part of a set a few weeks ago by Burke. 

The group had occupied the place for the better part of the morning though it was difficult to tell as heavy shutters kept most of the sunlight out. It had been a heated discussion as after a lengthy debate Lincoln had announced his decision to give the district of Tickfaw Harbour to Vito. In addition to that, Lincoln had hinted at the business of Bonnie and her cult, remarking that it was something he wanted to discuss with them in a more desirable location. Fact was he wanted to discuss it with them, Theresa, John, Father James and maybe the Navarro siblings but he knew no one would agree to that willingly if he laid it out so plainly. He was contemplating bringing Anna into the conversation but last he had seen her she had been worse, rabbit in headlights didn't even cover it, she was jumpy, terrified of her own shadow and still not making much sense, bringing other people into her life might only send her over the edge. Besides, he didn't think a reunion between her and Theresa would be safe.

Cassandra slammed her hand down hard on the wooden table before glowering from Vito to Lincoln. “Scaletta ain't no better than Marcano,” she remarked angrily. “It's bad enough you hand him the district but now you want us to get in a car with him?! No fucking way, this is a bad joke Lincoln and I have no patience for it.

Lincoln looked back at the woman calmly, his lips parting as he readied a retort but Vito beat him to it.

“Hey, hey!” the Italian-American snapped with a raised hand and glower. “I know you're used to your little Haitian boys bowing to your every whim,” he sneered. “But that shit don't work around here Cassandra. So cool it. I don't want your ass in the same car as me any more than you do but we have business to discuss and unfortunately we've to do it together.”

“And we can't do it here?” she retorted with another heated glare thrown in Lincoln's direction. 

Lincoln scowled back at her. He admired Cassandra but she put him in a bind, she was hot tempered, impatient, bold and stubborn and she had caused many problems for Sammy and the Black Mob but Lincoln had retaliated and caused many problems for her, which put them in an even standing in his mind. She had duped Lincoln back then by masquerading as a victim of Baka, letting Lincoln believe that Baka was the true leader of the Haitians, when he had learned the truth he had been impressed, wasn't often one find a woman, never mind a black woman in power but he felt a sense of danger too, she had tricked him once with ease, she could do it again.

“Y'all don't have to like the decisions I make,” Lincoln retorted frostily. “Way I see it, you fall in line or you fall out together. Fact is Cassandra this isn't district business so I don't want to do it here but it is New Bordeaux business and if you really care about the people like you preach you'll quit bitching about it and come with us.”

“I don't care about all the people,” she retorted heatedly, “and none of you are gonna pretend that ain't the truth for you. He's in it for the Italians,” she said as she gestured carelessly to Vito with one hand, “you know, the same people Marcano calls his own. And he's in it for the Irish mob,” she added as she pointed across the table at Burke with a wag of her finger.

“And here's me sittin' quiet for a change,” Burke grumbled in his thick Irish brogue. “We're all after the same thing Cassandra. Mixing it up between us isn't getting us anywhere. Anyway, I'm as thrilled about the car ride as you.” He raised his reddish-brown eyebrows and glanced at Lincoln. “Where are we headin' to?”

“Downtown,” Lincoln retorted calmly, “it's neutral for us so none of you should have a problem.”

“Where in Downtown?” Cassandra demanded.

“You'll find out, enough complaining,” Lincoln snapped, “we need to get going.” He stood up from the table.

“Why we all gotta be in the same car?” Cassandra demanded.

“Because it will be quicker and less conspicuous,” Vito snapped as he stood as well. “Jesus Cassandra use your fucking head.”

“I swear to God Lincoln I've had it up to hear with Scaletta's shit!” Cassandra shrieked out as she jumped up and banged her hands down on the table for emphasis.

Burke snickered. “I think they're both just grumpy because they're hungry,” he jested, “it is breakfast time.”

Vito glanced Burke's way as they started walking out. “And there I thought you told time in drinks not food,” he sneered. “Always five o'clock somewhere, right?”

“Got to have something to absorb the alcohol,” Burke retorted jovially, unfazed by the jibe.

“Everyone in my car now,” Lincoln ordered as they stepped out to a bright, sunny morning. He'd brought a battered, discreet, black five seater, a rust bucket definitely but no one was going to look at it twice.

“I'm sitting in the front,” Cassandra snapped.

“No you ain't princess,” Vito growled.

Lincoln resisted the urge to face palm as he wondered how the hell they could squabble over such a trivial thing.

“Let's solve this easy way,” Burke injected, “neither of you are in the front, I am.” He gestured to himself pointedly before stepping up to the front passenger door.

Cassandra and Vito both glared at the Irishman prompting Lincoln to smile. “Well at least you two can finally unite in something,” Lincoln joked, “you can both be mad with Burke.”

\---  
When they arrived in Downtown Lincoln's head was sore and he was a little reluctant to give into Vito's suggestion of heading to the Catfish Queen Diner. Realising that arguing with Vito was pointless as he was going to lose, Lincoln drove in that direction.

“Are we seriously discussing this over breakfast in a diner?” Cassandra sneered.

“No,” Vito retorted bluntly, “we are getting breakfast from a diner and then discussing it over breakfast in better surroundings.”

“Surroundings where?” Burke quipped suspiciously. 

“Lincoln?” Vito quipped with a smile, deferring to the would be boss for a response.

Lincoln frowned pointedly back at Vito in the mirror, breakfast was the Italian boss' suggestion after all, why did Lincoln have to come up with a location that was neutral and yet secure? He figured it was just as well he'd the sense to phone John ten minutes ago and get it arranged. “There's an old church nearby,” he retorted, “St Augustine's, it's boarded up, no one should be there.”

“Better be careful with the voodoo shit Cassandra, you might burn up in it,” Vito sneered.

“You do know voodoo has Catholic traditions at its core,” Cassandra retorted coolly.

Vito frowned over at her. “No I did not know that and I do not care,” he snapped back sarcastically.

“We're here,” Lincoln said loudly as he parked outside the diner.

The Catfish Queen boasted a cartoonic crowned catfish that looked like it was high on drugs as its mascot and advertised a twenty-four hour service with just about everything fried. As they stepped out and headed up to the door, Lincoln looked warily for the familiar foreboding sign that banned the presence of him, Cassandra and people like them but it wasn't there. As Downtown still sat under Marcano control, Lincoln wasn't entirely convinced the diner would prove welcoming.

Vito led the way in and to the counter with Lincoln and Cassandra side by side behind him and Burke lingering behind them eyeing the chalkboard menu behind the counter with disgust.

The server at the counter glanced past Vito to Lincoln and Cassandra and his gaze immediately turned hostile.

“I wouldn't son,” Vito addressed him quietly with a small smile, his tone calm but his blue gaze full of threat, “it's a little too early in the day to be inviting violence.”

“Their kind ain't welcome here,” the server grumbled back boldly, “don't much like wops either.”

Vito's smile widened. “This is going to end one of two ways but both see us leaving here with our food. You wanna pick which way we go?”

Cassandra rolled her eyes and looked to Lincoln despairingly. “Why we gotta put up with this shit?” she quipped loudly as she folded her arms. “There are better places to eat than this if we have to have breakfast.”

“Cool it Cassandra,” Vito retorted sharply without looking back.

“Why are we here?” Lincoln queried. “I mean I could eat but why here?”

“I'd rather drink toilet water than eat from here,” Burke scoffed loudly followed by a burp.

“Yeah well I want something from here,” Vito snarled, “so why don't you three shut the fuck up with the complaining, decide what you want and be grateful that I'm buying you breakfast.” He pointed a finger out at the now nervous looking server. “And you, stop while you're ahead with the racist bullshit, open that notepad and get ready to take my fucking order.”

“Jesus I was right, someone is cranky when they're hungry!” Burke taunted.

Lincoln let out a low chuckle before he could help himself.

The server flustered and fumbled with his notepad and pen, dropping the pen twice before standing to attention. “What can I get you?” he quipped anxiously.

“Pancakes, tall stack, lots of syrup and bacon, crispy.” Vito cast a glance up at the menu with scorn. “Not a fan of pasta are you guys?” he queried mockingly.

“Sure you run a fish joint,” Burke continued to tease.

“Yeah and you run a dump, you saying I should order you shit?” Vito scoffed.

“I run a respectable salvage yard,” Burke retorted heatedly.

“I'll get the fried shrimp and fries,” Lincoln decided.

Cassandra deliberated between the gumbo and the fried fish sandwich though she doubted either would taste well.

“Who you getting the pancakes for anyway if not yourself?” Burke demanded. “Or are you just a greedy fuck?”

“Yeah, get me the eggs Sardou,” Vito decided.

Cassandra sighed dramatically. “Well if we're doing this I'll have the fried fish sandwich but it better not be burned,” she added with a glower at the server. 

“Add a hamburger to mine,” Lincoln said.

The server scribbled down the order hastily.

“Leaves you Burke unless you want to starve,” Vito remarked.

Burke shrugged. “Eggs and bacon it is and don't worry lad,” he addressed the server with a smirk, “my expectations are low.”

“Yeah mine ain't, don't screw up those pancakes,” Vito warned.

The server nodded, fumbled with the notepad again and then scurried off.

“Ain't he supposed to give us the price first?” Cassandra queried.

“You all scared him,” Lincoln remarked with a teasing tut and a shake of his head.

“He should've asked about drinks too,” Burke complained.

Vito glanced over his shoulder at the Irishman. “What do you care? Nothing alcoholic on this menu.”

“Once in a while I like a milkshake,” Burke retorted defensively.

Vito laughed at this. “You like a milkshake?” he sneered. “Let me guess, settles the stomach after a vomiting session.”

Burke bristled at this and glared back at the Italian without an answer.

Vito laughed again. “Oh hit the nail on the head haven't I? Fine, you can have your milkshake but you're all gonna remember this good deed of mine.”

“Good deed? Bringing us to a place like this is a punishment,” Cassandra complained as she relaxed her stance.

Vito shrugged. “Never happy unless you're unhappy, ain't that right Cassandra?”

Lincoln smiled again. “She has a point Vito, not much of a friendly service.”

“Whatever, when it's free you guys don't have the right to complain.”

It took twenty minutes before they received their food, drinks and Vito paid, pointedly foregoing a tip and giving the server a glare that dared him to query it. Following in the vain of Burke, they had all ordered milkshakes, although Vito had gotten a lemonade as well. Before they headed off in the car, Vito stopped by a payphone to make a few phone calls.  
Ten minutes later found them pulling up outside the derelict church Lincoln had mentioned just as Quinn Navarro arrived with his sister Theresa. Father James and John Donovan were already inside having a heated argument about theology.

“Lincoln what in the hell is this?” Cassandra demanded.

“I want to have a discussion about the Ensanglante,” Lincoln explained, “it's not about the Marcanos or a turf war so I wanted to do it outside the plantation. Look, I'll introduce everyone in a minute, let's just sit and have breakfast first.”

“Breakfast?” John sneered as he looked over at them. “You bring me any?”

“Just a burger,” Lincoln offered as he hunted for it in the paper bag.

“Wait a sec, I know him,” Burke complained as he pointed at Quinn, “and her, why does Vito get his guys here?” he demanded.

“My guy that you once used to blow up Dixie distilleries,” Vito reminded him coolly. “You're happy with him when you want to be.”

“They're not here as Vito's crew,” Lincoln said hastily, “they're here because of the Ensanglante.”

Theresa had turned stiff and was giving Cassandra an odd look.

“Do I know you?” Cassandra queried icily as she frowned back at the younger woman.

“No,” Theresa retorted quietly.

“Do you know me?” Cassandra demanded.

“You look familiar is all,” Theresa murmured with a shrug.

Vito stepped between the two offering out a milkshake and paper bag to Theresa. “Pancakes,” he said. “Don't ever say I don't make good on my word.”

“Your word?” Burke piped up loudly. “What's that then? Why you buying pancakes for her? She fucking you too?”

Vito whirled on Burke with a look of fury. “Burke you shut the fuck up about all that now,” he snarled, “we ain't here for that shit okay?”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows at this and gave a small smile. “Didn't know you liked 'em young Scaletta,” she teased.

John smiled as he watched the show with glee whilst Quinn frowned and looked to his sister with displeasure.

“I charge more than pancakes for that,” Theresa piped up in a forcefully light tone. “Ask your boys Burke, I cost them a lot of your money,” she added with a bitter, biting smile.  
Lincoln looked at Theresa with interest. He disapproved of the way she mocked herself but seeing the hurt in her eyes he figured it was the only way she could deal with the taunts, by embracing them and making some of her own. He felt sorry for her and wondered if his pity came from an age old debt to her that he still could not recall or if it was because he was starting to get to know her and despite her defensive, abrasive and taunting attitude he knew under the hostility there was a nice woman, one deeply loyal to her family, brave and bold, a little careless yeah, foolish even but wasn't everyone at some point?

“What do you owe her pancakes for?” John pried.

“For braving Nuit Blanche,” Theresa answered proudly with a wider grin.

“Where are my pancakes then?” John demanded.

“You got a burger,” Lincoln reminded him, “which Vito paid for.”

John frowned down at the burger. “Huh, I risk my neck to save your life from psychos and all that's worth is a burger?”

“I don't value my life all that much,” Lincoln joked.

After some more brief, half-hearted grumbling and a few looks of disapproval and worry from Father James, the mismatched group finally settled in the derelict church. Those with breakfast dined upon it in relative peace. John ate his burger hastily before heading outside with Quinn for a smoke. Once everything was eaten, Lincoln finally addressed his curious, impatient and mistrustful audience.

“Alright, we're here because we have one thing in common- The Ensanglante,” he explained. “A murderous cult that likes to kidnap and kill people. You heard of them Cassandra, Burke?”

“A little,” Cassandra admitted as she rested her hands on her hips, “white privileged folks who've issued with black folk, nothing unique there.”

“Nah,” Burke scoffed.

“Well they're active now,” Lincoln said. He looked to Theresa pointedly. “Theresa here was taken to the Bayou by them, she barely escaped and they have a nightclub where they drug people, indoctrinate them and murder those that don't make the cut.”

“They took Anna,” Theresa murmured, “Bonnie kept calling her special, blessed.”

“Who?” Burke quipped rudely.

“Anna,” Lincoln retorted, “a friend of Theresa's, she turned up in the Hollow, in Sammy's place. The Ensanglante had turned it into a ritual site, they're drawn to violent places, and they were killing people there, sacrificing I guess. I took care of them and left Anna to Father James.” He nodded to the priest.

Theresa's keen grey eyes immediately locked in on him. “Where is she?” she demanded. “And how is she?”

“She's with friends,” the priest retorted, purposely vague. He was a little unnerved by Theresa's glower and took a couple of steps back. “She isn't well, very shaken up, barely makes sense.”

Theresa frowned. “Why can't I see her?” she snapped as she turned her glare on Lincoln. “I could help her.”

“Or endanger her,” Lincoln pointed out, “the Ensanglante found you at Vito's place.”

“Is that what happened?” Cassandra queried.

“I thought you just had an accident in the kitchen,” Burke mocked.

“Well you walked right into her nest,” Theresa retorted moodily, “how do we know they ain't gonna follow you to her?”

Quinn sighed. “Fucking mess this,” he muttered quietly. “Isn't Marcano's shit enough?”

“I agree with him,” John remarked cheerfully. “You tried Lincoln, no one can say you didn't but it didn't work out. Let's focus on the main problem.”

“Who are you again?” Burke demanded with a look of suspicion.

“John, an old army friend.”

“Why did Bobby send you?” Theresa complained as she frowned up at her brother. “You don't care about any of it, I'm always a problem to you.”

“Well you are a God damn problem ain't ya?” Quinn snapped back with a blue eyed glower. “Bobby lets you away with murder cause you're the youngest and a girl, don't matter how much trouble you cause and you do cause it.”

“That's enough Quinn,” Vito interrupted coolly. He didn't like how Quinn bickered with his sister before the others, it showed dissension in the ranks and it made it look like Vito's allies were little more than squabbling kids. Vito also didn't like how Quinn berated Theresa, he didn't think it was fair given the troubled childhood she had suffered.  
“The Ensanglante isn't an individual problem,” Lincoln remarked loudly as he tried to regain the room's attention. “If it wasn't Theresa it would be someone else, they're bloodthirsty and something has them active. Now I'm going to do what I can to investigate it but I need you all to be on guard in your districts, to stop them if you see them and try and help me root out what they're after. This doesn't displace the Marcano business,” he added pointedly before Cassandra could complain, “it's still our priority. I got Alvarez out of the country and now it's only a matter of time before I get Tommy Marcano.”

“Why Tommy?” Theresa pried.

“Why not?” Burke snapped.

“Because I can get access to Tommy,” Lincoln admitted. “He's got money plates hidden in the Acadia in Southdowns so that's where I'll be heading next.”

“Sure Lincoln tell everyone everything,” John lamented with a shake of his head.

“John, these guys have to be in on my plans or they won't work, they help come up with them,” Lincoln reminded him.

“Is she?” John quipped as he gestured to Theresa with one hand. “I'm a fan Tessa, I really am but that doesn't mean we can trust you with all our greatest secrets now, does it?”

Theresa smiled back. “You haven't even given me your surname,” she reminded him. “Besides, you trust my brothers to kill for you, why not me?”

“You're not killin' for anyone,” Quinn snarled.

“I meant why not trust me,” Theresa grumbled as she frowned over at her brother, “but little late for the killing lecture Quinn.”

“The killing lecture,” John repeated with a smirk, “in my family it was all about the birds and the bees.”

“Yeah we're getting off track here,” Vito murmured, “why don't we piece together all we know about the Ensanglante so far?” he suggested.

Lincoln nodded. “Good idea Vito.”

Cassandra sighed and settled down on a pew. “This is gonna be a long day,” she lamented.


	10. Doing it for Family

The dreams had come again. Fire, people screaming, men shouting getting down, a woman smiling sadistically before she blew herself and several others to bits. The smell was the worst, burned flesh, it wasn't a scent one could ever really shake.

Lincoln awoke in a cold sweat to darkness. He listened for a moment, waiting for the sounds of mortars and death knells to fade away and stretched out in his bed to prove to himself that he wasn't squished in a foxhole. He pressed a hand to his brow before sitting up and attempting to shake off the remnants of the dream. Ever since he had been subjected to Sky he had been having more lucid dreams, sometimes John, Anna or even Theresa made an appearance. The ones with Theresa were the worst, he was small, lost amongst dark trees running from a man he couldn't see and there she was as she was now, fully grown with a mad smile, clutching at a bloodstained knife. John complained that Lincoln was obsessed with helping her out of guilt, because Theresa had lost her innocence to keep him safe. Lincoln figured John was right but he wouldn't say it, besides, he wanted to help Anna too.

Lincoln had visited Anna in Tickfaw Harbor earlier this evening. Things in the harbor had already started to improve thanks to Vito. John and Burke both made jokes that it was because Vito was used to working with fish but Lincoln disagreed. Vito was cold, meticulous and clever, he was also cruel when he needed to be and never one to turn away when he had to do something horrible to get a job done. Vito was also patient, unlike Marcano and Cassandra, he could wait for years for success if he had to. With Vito over the harbor, Lincoln felt better about Anna's safety, even if she didn't. The young woman had still looked pale and terrified and as far as Lincoln could tell there were no signs of improvement. He had offered to bring Theresa to her but she had shook her head and cried, begging him to keep Tessa safe and away from her danger.

Lincoln fumbled for the bedside lamp, he was awake, no point in attempting anymore sleep. He clicked it on and looked to the clock on the wall, it was three in the morning. He sighed wearily and debated over what to do. He felt unsettled, he could still feel the scorch of the flames and taste the humid jungle air. He realised he wanted to talk it out with someone and reached for the phone. He dialled John's number first, the man slept odd hours and was rarely bothered by a call at unsociable hours. The phone rang a few times before the line cut off indicating the man was either not in residence or not in a mood to answer. Considering that the agent might be asleep after all, Lincoln didn't bother trying again.

He pressed back against the headboard of the bed and shut his eyes. He saw Charlie in the jungle, bleeding and screaming vengeance at him, then it shifted to Marcano's men in the urban jungle, eyes full of hate then shock as he emptied bullets into them, nameless Southern-Italian thugs. Lincoln didn't want names for any of his victims, he didn't know their histories and he didn't care. They had made their choice but then again so had he and as Giorgie had told him in what should have been his final moments at Sammy's, he had made the wrong one, he should have said 'yes'.

Lincoln's eyes opened wide and he started to dial another number on the phone. He paused, realising he might disturb more than one person with the call, but then he continued anyway. To hell with it, he couldn't sleep and there was no alcohol in this room.

“Whosthis?” Vito's tired voice mumbled the words as one as he picked up after five rings.

“Lincoln.”

“Lincoln what the fuck? What time is it?” Vito demanded with a crossness that came from fatigue.

“Early or late depending on your perspective,” Lincoln jested with a short laugh. “I'm sorry to wake you Vito.”

“But?” The man was straight to the point.

Now Lincoln felt guilty and a little foolish, Vito was his ally but he could easily turn into an enemy. One wrong roll of the dice and Vito, Cassandra or Burke could lose patience and turn on Lincoln. The game of balance between them was an uneasy one.

“Do you ever dream about the war?” Lincoln pried.

Vito was silent for a moment. “Sure kid, sometimes,” he admitted.

“Do you see them? The people you killed?”

“Sure.”

“Then it doesn't go away?”

“No kid but it gets easier. You just tell yourself the truth, it was you or them and you did what you had to.”

“And was I doing what I had to here? When I said no to Marcano and Sammy and Ellis got killed?” Lincoln queried bitterly.

“Shit kid what do you think would have happened if you had said yes? Marcano was killing Sammy either way, to him Sammy was weak and Ellis had to go or he would've been looking revenge. Then he'd have taken you on but only for so long, the paranoia would've come, he'd be looking over his shoulder wondering why the fuck you did say yes and if you were just waiting to stick the knife in him for Sammy. Yes or no, the outcome would've been the same, death for Sammy and Ellis and an attempt on your life. Least this way you gotta a chance.”

Lincoln nodded along dully as he rubbed at his stubble. “Did you lose anyone close to you? Do they...haunt you?”

“Damn you're deep with the questions this morning,” Vito chided him.

“I know, I'm sorry,” Lincoln apologised again. “I didn't know who to call, maybe I should have just left it.”

“Joe and Henry,” Vito remarked bluntly. “I lost them back in Empire Bay.”

“Who were they to you?” Lincoln pried.

“Joe was my best friend, we grew up together. We ended up on opposing sides in the end, one mob boss promising him a promotion to kill me and another promising me a clean slate to kill that boss, I thought the deal I made was for Joe and I both and I fucking told Joe that,” Vito said bitterly. “We killed a man called Falcone for a man called Vinci, turned out they were both bastards. The deal I cut was just for me. So if Joe had said no to me I'd be dead but Joe said yes so he's...” Vito trailed off.

Lincoln remembered how Vito had mentioned needing a favour once in River Row, how he was getting the location of people that he needed rid off because they'd done something bad to a friend of his. People who would see Vito coming a mile off or he'd do it himself.

“You talked about needing people who killed a friend of yours dealt with,” Lincoln reminded him, “was it Joe?”

“Yeah it was Joe,” Vito confessed.

“You got any of those names?”

Vito was silent for a moment again, reflecting on his answer. “Took me twelve years and a lot of money but I got the names. You've got a lot on your plate, I've been keeping an eye on them, they ain't running yet, it can wait.”

“After I get Tommy Marcano, you give me a name,” Lincoln said firmly.

“Sure kid,” Vito retorted with a hint of happiness to his tone.

“Who was Henry?” Lincoln queried curiously.

“Even to this day I don't know,” Vito growled out. “He had a traitor's end and honestly, I don't know if that's what he was or if it was a fucking set up.”

Lincoln gathered from Vito's tone that the conversation was at an end. He regretted it, instead of making him feel better it had made him feel worse.

“I'm sorry,” Lincoln murmured.

“Don't be sorry Lincoln, you didn't know them and it wasn't your fault. Shit happens and the world keeps turning. You and I have only ever done what we have to.”

“Right. I'll let you get back to sleep.”

“Call round later sure,” Vito suggested.

“I'm going to go see Tommy later,” Lincoln admitted.

“After that then,” Vito retorted casually as if Lincoln wasn't talking about murdering someone.

“Vito hang up the fucking phone already,” a woman's voice grumbled sleepily.

Lincoln filled with shock before a wide grin broke out across his face. The silence Vito was giving him now was priceless and Lincoln was certain he could sense the Italian's embarrassment. “Vito is that who I think it is?” he asked in a teasing manner.

“She was wearing silk, so sue me, I'm a man with needs,” Vito grumbled back.

“Was wearing?” Lincoln remarked tauntingly.

“Ah fuck off kid,” Vito snapped.

“Is it worth the wrath of all those brothers?”

“I'm their boss,” Vito retorted haughtily. “Anyway,” he added in a lower tone, “they ain't gonna know about this because this phone call never happened, did it?”

Lincoln laughed before he could help it. “No but thanks for it anyway, it's certainly cheered me up.”

“Yeah, glad to be of service kid. Good night.” Vito hung up the phone.

\---

Sal Marcanno looked up with a tired disapproval at the young woman who entered into his private study. Dark haired and grey eyed with a pointed nose and a wild look to her fair features, she had the fearsome but attractive features of her mother. Although Sal could see it he could see something else in her too. She had her father's excitable, impatient recklessness, his ruthless, bloodthirsty edge and a stance at once both bold and fearless, and foolish without a thought for consequences. These negative traits were in her half-brother too and Sal felt remorse that neither of them could have inherited anything good from their father.

What worried Sal most was the prickling of love just below the surface of his stoic stance that he felt for the woman. She had pushed for it with her visits, never giving up on trying to know him despite all the woe he had caused for her mother's other children. She didn't care that he favoured his male heir, she wasn't trying to compete for any inheritance or acknowledgement, she just wanted some form of affection. Sal understood why, her mother had died after bringing her into this world, he had a dark suspicion her mother had in fact died for bringing her into this world, and the man she had to call father had been a violent brute to all his children and the youngest of his brood and the only female was no exception to that.

She was around fourteen, fifteen when she had first appeared to Sal. He had been surprised, always aware of her existence but never having any interest in pursuing it. Theresa Navarro, she had been quick to introduce herself, little caring what her given family name might mean to him and cocky that her identity would mean something to him. Sal had been torn between disgust at her and being impressed by her and over the past eleven years that hadn't changed. She had been brought up by an all too willing guard in her uniform, as Sal had later learned when she approached the guard with the skirt higher than the norm and her shirt unbuttoned to show off her bra she had promised to let the man 'touch her panties' if he took her to the boss. Sal had considered it crude but he admired her bravado anyway. The guard in question had been fired swiftly after.

Sal had queried if had taken Theresa fourteen years to figure her parentage out but she had shrugged at him and retorted coolly that no, it had just taken fourteen years for him to  matter . It shouldn't have bothered him but it had. Theresa hadn't even come to see him because he was her father, she had come because she was angry with the Dixie Mafia and he was Sal Marcano, the great mob boss of New Bordeaux. Sal had listened to her story and kept his disgust at Douchet private but shown his admiration when Theresa had concluded that she wasn't seeking revenge, just an end to the feud. She reasoned the Navarros and the Dixie Mafia were even now and she wanted to be able to go about her business without fear of another kidnapping.

Salt had granted her peace of mind in the end and agreed to further visits between them so long as they were kept private. She could never tell Giorgi or the other members of the Marcano family that she was Sal's bastard.

At first Sal had attempted to make a pawn of Theresa, to use her as his inside woman with the rebels in the Italian gang and the Irish drunks of Burke's gang that she tended to roam with but she had refused. She was loyal to a fault and took a neutral stance when she came to him. She would no more betray them to him than she would give him up to them. It had made Sal angry and he had rejected her but she wouldn't be brushed off so easily and she made him curious. In the end Sal had chosen to admire her loyalty and became agreeable to meetings that were personal with no business.

 

“Theresa,” Sal greeted the young woman bluntly as he glanced up from the sheets on the large desk before him, “I'm glad to see you but it's not a good time.”

Sal was aware that Giorgi was somewhere close by. His wayward son who followed him with a blind loyalty, his loyalty was more passionate than Theresa's, she at least questioned hers once in a while but he just followed Sal simply because Sal was his father. Theresa queried Sal's decisions, Giorgi did not. It was why Theresa would never be offered a piece of the Marcano pie.

Sal realised the fact that Theresa would never inherit from him was why he allowed her in his life. She was the one member of his family who it was never business with, just personal.

Theresa shrugged and discarded her tasselled bag to a chair by the door. She pushed back some of her long, dark hair exposing a faded bruise on her right cheek.

Sal took in her appearance, she was aware of her youthful figure and the curves of womanhood that came with it and dressed to emphasise it. Today it was a pleated, red tartan skirt and a short sleeved, tight fitting, light, white shirt and black gogo boots. The outfit was accessorized with a red, silk necktie, a red headband, a large, chunky belt of gold hoops and the black tasselled bag she had just discarded to the chair. Sal immediately despised the outfit as he did most of Theresa's wardrobe choices, she was a vixen in the making like her mother and she had her father's cunning, a dangerous combination.

“Why are you here?” Sal queried calmly as he abandoned his paperwork for now and gave the woman his full attention.

Theresa glanced from from Sal to the whiskey decanter and unused glasses resting on a glass table against the wall. “Can I have a drink?” she queried.

Sal frowned. “You nervous girl?” She looked nervous despite her best efforts to hide it, she was flexing her fingers as if they were stiff.

She shot him a heated stare of annoyance. “No, just thirsty,” she retorted defensively.

“Well I'll get you water then,” Sal offered with a small smile.

Theresa folded her arms and frowned back. “You don't make it easy old man,” she grumbled.

Sal's frown deepened at her disrespect and he stood up from his desk. “I don't make what easy?” he retorted sharply. He stepped round the desk and moved towards her. “I told you this wasn't a good time and yet you linger on telling me why you're here.”

“You always said you'd nothing to do with Tommy being taken by the Dixie Mafia,” she mused. “You said they acted on that themselves and just used your name to legitimise it.”

Sal halted, putting the woman in his shadow as he continued to frown. He couldn't even picture her Tommy and hated that she called him that, a Navarro wasn't worthy of sharing a name with a Marcano. “We've had this conversation,” he reminded her. “Your brothers are a pain in my side and they did owe me money as part of the Italian gang but I did not authorise any kidnappings or killings in the Bayou. For all the grief they cause me I have given them a berth although if word is true that they have thrown in with Scaletta and Lincoln Clay that will have to change.”

Sal wasn't impressed or surprised when Theresa did not query the names 'Scaletta' or 'Lincoln Clay' or both to feign confusion over them. Sal figured she probably knew Vito through her brothers even before this mess and maybe she had heard Lincoln's name on the news but Sal doubted it. His crew said they were all working together, apparently the entire Navarro clan, Vito and Lincoln had even blown up a nightclub together though Sal had no idea why.

Theresa nodded, looked to the ground and slackened her arms by her sides. “You ever heard of the Ensanglante?” she quipped.

“Some dead cult,” Sal ventured. It was a sudden change of topic and Sal knew Theresa was trying to evade something with the subject change.

“Not quite dead,” Theresa grumbled. “They're back, took me and my friend Anna one night, tried to kill me in the swamp, don't know what they did to her.” She heaved out a heavy sigh. “I mean she's alive but I don't know what state she's in.” She fixed a serious stare up at Sal. “They're violent and they don't give a fuck about mob rule or politics. Either you're one of them or an enemy of them and they like to sacrifice their enemies.”

Sal sighed. “How did you get away?”

“Ran,” she retorted bluntly.

“And who are they? Do you know their names?”

She shrugged. “Bonnie is the leader, that's the only name I got.”  
“It's not much for me,” he answered crossly. He wondered if Theresa was trying to ask him to go after them for her but with such little information on them how could she expect him to spare the resources?

“I know, just wanted to give you some warning about them,” she replied. Her eyes darted to the whiskey again.

Sal knew Theresa with withholding something but he hadn't the time to go fishing for it. “Make it a shot and you can have a drink,” he offered, “but then you have to go.”

Theresa nodded with a look of relief. She escaped his shadow and hastened to the whiskey. “You want one?” she queried as she poured herself a generous portion into a glass.

“No,” Sal retorted. His dark eyes filled with fresh disapproval at her portion size. “I said a shot,” he reminded her.

“I'll drink fast,” she assured. Good as her word, Theresa lifted the glass and drained it in one long, greedy gulp. This followed with a crude burp before she scurried over to her bag and slung it over her shoulder again.

Sal watched with amusement as she headed for the door, marvelling as her hand fumbled for the handle as the whiskey went straight to her head.

“Be good now,” he cautioned her, “and get home safe, wherever home is these days.”

“Sure old man,” she answered cheerfully as she opened the door and headed out.

Theresa made it down and through Sal's office building with relative ease, winking at the guards who leered closely at her tartan skirt and wondered who she was. She was behaved enough to escape through the back exits, keeping to the corridors with restricted access.

Theresa was shocked when she exited to an alleyway that should have been deserted and almost collided with her brother Tommaso who was beaten, bruised and panting as he sagged between two well dressed thugs headed by Tommy Marcano.

Tommy stood in a dark grey suit with his hands on his hips regarding Theresa with a sneering smile. “Well now we'd almost given up hope on you appearing,” he leered in his snobby Southern droll. “Thought you might get real bold and walk out the front like you actually belonged here.”

Theresa's gaze darted from him to her brother with uncertainty as she tried to figure out what was going on.

“I seen you heading round the back, him too,” Tommy continued as he gestured back to Tommaso with one thumb, “and figured it had to be divine fortune.”

“It's not what you think,” Theresa said.

“No?” Tommy raised his brown eyebrows slightly and laughed. “I think you're my brother's bastard which makes him weak to you but I think you're a Navarro first, in hand with that bastard Scaletta and by extension a real thorn in our ass, Lincoln Clay. Now that's what I think but here's what I know, we're all going for a car ride.”

Tommy gestured behind him with one hand to a long black car blocking the alleyway exit. “You tell me otherwise and your brother is going to lose his head.”

Theresa swallowed hard. “What's my guarantee he won't lose it anyway if I go with you?” she queried boldly.

Tommy smiled and tugged out a pistol from his inner blazer pocket. “There isn't one but if you don't start walking to the car I'm going to pull the trigger and he's going to lose it now.” He aimed the gun back at the struggling Navarro brother.

“Alright,” Theresa protested swiftly.

She started walking, pausing when she neared her brother. She gave him a pained look of guilt but he couldn't focus on her as his eyes were swollen and the right one pooling with blood from a cut on his forehead.

“Shit Tommy why are you here?” he asked quietly.

“Because he's a good brother,” Tommy Marcano answered tauntingly. “Walk a little faster Theresa, I haven't got all day.”

Theresa obeyed, trying to maintain a calm as she tried to think of a plan. She took in the guards holding her brother, both were bloodied and looking worse for wear, Tommy had given as good as he had gotten. She heard shoes scraping behind her as she kept walking and knew that Tommy was getting dragged.

As Theresa neared the car she saw two men lingering near it, four guards and Tommy Marcano, and her only armed with a knife, sure she could take one, maybe two if she was quick enough but her brother would get shot in that time.

She halted at the car, glancing warily at the back passenger door.

No one knew Theresa was here, hell she didn't think even Tommy had known she would be here. Had he known who her real father was before Tommy Marcano had blurted it out? She guessed he had simply followed her here, driven by paranoia to keep her in his sights.

“Surrender the bag and then hands on the car and spread your legs,” Tommy Marcano ordered, “wouldn't do to let you in with a weapon.”

Theresa rolled her eyes at this but complied anyway, handing her bag to one of the men waiting at the car before leaning against it.

“She did that quick boss,” a brown haired male jested, “she must be used to stop searches.”

Theresa tensed as she felt a pair of beefy hands slide up her skirt.

“I ain't carrying anything down there except my virginity,” she said merrily.

The man laughed readily at this before patting around her shirt. He bent down and to her dismay he found the knife in her boot and plucked it out.

“It's for peeling apples,” Theresa remarked innocently.

“Sure, well there are no apples where we're going,” Tommy retorted. “Alright, get them into the car.” He nodded to the guard behind Theresa.

She heard a loud crack against the back of her skull and felt a sudden pang of pain before the world went dark.

 


	11. Family Fallout

Vito was concerned. He told himself it was only because Ducks was concerned, which was a rarity. If Bobby 'Ducks' Navarro had something to worry about then they all did. The aging mob boss assured himself that it was no more than the usual concern he would have for anyone who had been missing this long. Except it hadn't been long, it had only been a few hours. Vito reasoned that maybe it was just because she was his friend's sister and she did have a tendency to get herself into trouble.

He only became aware of the others staring at him when Cassandra rudely slapped at his hat causing it to slant down over his eyes.

“You in there Scaletta?” she snapped.

“Yeah I fucking am,” he retorted as he fixed his hat and glowered at her. “Why, you finally got something important to say?”

“Just wish you'd stop drumming your fingers on the table,” she retorted as she shook her head and stuck her chin in the air in a haughty pose.

Vito glanced down at his right hand and watched mystified as his fingers rapped on the wood before he withdrew his hand and purposely folded his arms.

“Is something wrong Vito?” Lincoln pried as he studied him from across the table.

Vito glanced back at the younger man and decided it was best not burdening him with this new worry. Lincoln was heading to the Southdowns to enter a boxing ring that would hopefully get him to Tommy Marcano tonight, he had more than enough on his mind. It was the whole reason for this meeting, one final discussion of Lincoln's plan to get Tommy Marcano, another go through of the quick action they would all have to take in the aftermath, and a very brief murmur over what would happen if it all went to shit.

“I'm bored too lad,” Burke sympathised as he glanced over at Vito.

“I'm not bored,” Vito snarled back.

“No, what then?” Burke demanded. “You're kind of restless. Oh I know,” he slammed his now empty bottle down on the table excitedly, “are you missing out on something lad? Getting too busy with business for pleasure, that sort of thing? Makes me restless too.”

As Burke laughed Cassandra pulled a face of revulsion and made an 'ugh' noise.

Lincoln smiled and shook his head before giving Vito a pointed stare. “I don't think that's Vito's problem,” he dared to joke.

If looks could kill, Vito's answering glare to Lincoln would have turned him to ash.

“Oh and how do you know?” Bure demanded as he leaned forward, suddenly interested in the conversation. “Did he buy you a girl too?”

“What?!” Vito snapped angrily before he could help himself. “Hey,” he pointed at Burke, “just because you have to pay for it doesn't mean I do.”

“Pigs,” Cassandra scorned them.

“Hey now Cassandra all's fair in love and war,” Burke scoffed at her, “let's be equal here, you must have the need the same as the rest of us.”

“It's not something I'm going to discuss with you three,” Cassandra retorted hotly. “Surely we have more important matters at hand than Scaletta's failed love life.”

“Hey, hey,” Vito protested moodily, “firstly, honey, there's nothing failed about it and secondly, fuck you Burke, I don't have to pay to get tail and thirdly, Lincoln,” he pointed across the table sternly at the snickering young man, “not a fucking word out of you.”

Cassandra bristled at the term 'honey' exactly as Vito hoped she would and fumed in her seat whilst Burke laughed and looked over at Lincoln with interest.

“Lincoln you know something more about Scaletta's mess then, what is it then? Is she ugly? Is she fat?”

“Jesus,” Vito grumbled. “You'd be lucky to afford a girl like that,” he scorned the Irishman.

Lincoln shook his head. “Sorry Burke, I don't think it's worth it. Anyway, Cassandra's right, business first.”

“Tell you what lad, if all goes well tonight I'll buy you a beer and you can tell me all about Scaletta's fat whore,” Burke offered.

Vito bristled at this and glared over at Burke. “Fuck you,” he repeated again. “Lincoln, you do good tonight and I'll take you out for a real drink, not that potato piss Burke's passing for alcohol.”

“Just a minute here,” Cassandra snapped as she slammed a hand down on the table, “I see what's going on here. You think you're going to play this gender crap on me? You boys take Lincoln out for some sort of lad's night and butter him up for Tommy's district? Well fuck you both,” she snarled as she folded her arms, “I won't be screwed over so easily.”

Vito and Burke exchanged a look of surprise before Burke gave a loud, rude, scoffing laugh.

“You're always so paranoid Cassandra,” Burke scorned her, “I didn't even have our political goals in mind.”

“Sure you didn't,” she sneered.

Vito sighed. “You know if you'd take that voodoo stick out of your ass once in a while we'd invite you out too,” he taunted.

“On that note,” Lincoln interrupted up firmly as he stood up from the table, “I'm going to go. I've got to get to the Southdowns for these fights.”

“Good luck kid and knock 'em all dead,” Burke remarked cheerfully as he too stood.

“Burn Tommy's joint to the ground,” Cassandra said sternly as she too rose.

Vito turned his head up to Lincoln. He remained sitting, in everyone's shadows and yet appearing every inch the king in his throne. “Kill them all kid and watch your back,” he said.

Vito stood too and the group headed out of the rundown plantation manor to a warm dusk. The sound of grasshoppers and the squawking of waterfowl carried on the breeze hinting at the wilds of the swampland beyond. The iron fencing was all that kept the swamp from this small spot of humanity but given how the vines were climbing up the rotting woodwork and birds had made nests in the ruins of upstairs, it wouldn't be long before the swamp dragged the plantation back into its domain.

Cassandra hopped into her purple car hastily, turned on the engine and sped off without a goodbye or a backwards glance.

Burke let out another chuckle as she left before turning to Vito and Lincoln with a smirk. “I wonder if it's only a matter of time before we kill each other,” he remarked merrily. “I think she's hot for your head Scaletta,” he teased the Italian, “which means I might inherit the city yet.”

Burke limped off to his own green vehicle without waiting for Vito's moody retort.

The truth was Vito did admire Cassandra, he didn't like her, she was too hotheaded and hateful to him and the Italians for that but he didn't have to like her to admire her. She was gutsy and she had balls. She had both her race and gender against her and yet she continued to triumph against all the odds.

“So what's really going on with you?” Lincoln queried Vito bluntly as he watched Burke start up his car.

The car let out a few squeals and heavy clunks followed by a blast of black smoke before it screeched off.

“You'd think given that he works for a fucking salvage yard he could drive a better car than that,” Vito remarked dryly as he watched the car go.

“That's not his main ride,” Lincoln pointed out, “just one for coming out here, lessens the chances of being followed.”

Vito grinned at this. “Yeah because the smoke and noise makes him so fucking discreet.” He took off his trilby and fanned himself with it. Even though dusk had come the heat of the day still lingered. He could sense Lincoln's dark eyes upon him and knew that the former Vet was going to press for an answer. Part of him wondered why, he and Lincoln weren't close and he didn't owe him explanation to his personal life but then again, who the hell did either of them have to turn to? Neither one of them really had any friends and certainly none outside this murky Marcano business.

“Is it Tess?” Lincoln pried quietly. “She...well...” He dipped his head slightly as his cheeks burned pink. “Was the silk just a one time thing?”

“Oh Jesus kid, you're embarrassing you and me,” Vito scoffed. He put his hat back on and glanced over at Lincoln. “She's been gone for a few hours alright,” he admitted. “It's nothing unusual for her but she's got Bobby worried. He says he ain't seen Tommy for a while either so we have to figure they're together. I don't know if she's just looking time away from the mess, I mean running off is what she does...” He let out a sigh.

“You think she's having second thoughts about you?” Lincoln queried bluntly.

Vito's dark blue eyes went wide at this. “Well I wasn't until now!” he snapped. “Fuck kid, we're not dating, Jesus youth of today, when you get to my age well...you're just grateful to get a good fuck,” he grumbled. “Alright, so I was considering she might have told Tommy or maybe,” he rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand, “Tommy asked her given we weren't too quiet and the walls are thin. Hell, why am I telling you this? You don't need to know.”

Lincoln smiled over at the older man. “Hey, I'm jealous, all this going on and you still found time for that,” Lincoln retorted mockingly. “Although, those brothers of hers are psychotic, personally, she's nice and all but I wouldn't touch her with a bargepole. I've seen Tommy stab someone in the eye and he's the nice one.” Lincoln let out a brief laugh. “They find out about you and Bobby will probably haul Theresa's ass into a convent or a tower.”

“Yeah, thanks kid,” Vito grumbled with a grimace. “Anyway, you head on, she'll turn up, probably high as a kite or drunk as a skunk, maybe should tell Bobby to check out Pointe Verdun.”

Lincoln nodded before stepping up to Vito. “I'm sure that's it,” he said sincerely in a low voice. “We've got enough people looking out for the Ensanglante and we hurt them taking out that club, I don't think she's in any immediate danger from them,” he added, guessing at Vito's real fears. “Knowing what little I do of Tess, she's probably committing a felony and Tommy is probably trying to bail her out before Bobby gets wind of it.”

Vito smiled at this and nodded. “Right kid, that's probably it. Now get on to Southdowns already, you've got some fights to win, just remember it's the last one that counts.”

Lincoln nodded agreeably before stepping up to his black sedan. He glanced over at Vito again. “I'll call you after and you can let me know if she's turned up, if not I'll help look for her.” He opened the door of the car and got in.

Vito waited until Lincoln had departed before finally getting into his navy blue De'Leo Angeleno, a car that was subtle enough to blend in but not well designed for swamp terrain.

He drove out onto the dirt track road and prepared for a bumpy ride through the rough paths that passed as roads out here as he headed back to River Row. He knew Bobby would call him one way or another and there wasn't much he could do until then.

 

\---

Tommy Marcano glanced at the expensive, glittering gold watch on his wrist. He didn't have long before he would have to leave to prepare for this evening's “Jungle Fights” and the stench of the swamp mingled with blood was starting to irritate his senses anyway.

He had gathered in the past couple of hours that it didn't matter what he did or threatened to do, the Navarro siblings were tough as nails and neither one was going to betray Vito Scaletta or Lincoln Clay to him. He wasn't even certain they knew anything about Clay, that was speculation, but it had been worth asking.

They were in an unused wooden shack deep in the Bayou, part of an abandoned Dixie Mafia distillery settlement. Half the building had already sunken into swamp, driven there by hurricanes and heavy rain most probably. It was pooled up with dark water that promised all manner of terrors in it and one had to wonder if the wooden boards of the back wall went all the way down anymore. There wasn't even a floor, never had been, the half-bred hicks who'd been out here had been too lazy to construct it. They'd just wanted a quick, uninteresting looking shelter for their barrels of moonshine to sit in before the truck could come to carry them off.

“You know Theresa I'm going to change tactics here because we're almost out of time,” Tommy addressed the woman with a smile.

She was tied up in ropes, bruised and bloody but still mocking him with a smile. Tommy admired how she had taken her beating, biting back every whimper and offering up colourful insults instead. Her brother looked worse for wear too but he was still managing a mad grin, all the crazier looking thanks to the missing teeth and the crimson blood that decorated the remaining ones.

Tommy took out his gun and pointed its cold nozzle in Tommaso's direction. “I've a game for you,” he said with a cold grin. “Your brother keeps breathing until you scream. You scream, he dies.”

Theresa glared back at him challengingly and he wondered if she knew he really was pressed for time and if she was planning on waiting him out.

Tommy nodded calmly to the guard lingering behind her. He was Tony Moreau, was a cousin of Chester Moreau one of Olivia Marcano's racket bosses and he was eager to prove himself to the Marcano family ever since his cousin Chester had gotten him a chance with Tommy. Tony moved quickly, he tugged out a knife and surprised Theresa by cutting free the ropes that bound her hands.

At first he spun her round with one hand to face him and delivered two sudden punches to her gut.

She almost screamed with surprise and only just swallowed down her sound of pain as she doubled over with a gasp.

Tony offered another punch, higher and harder, his fist struck her ribcage this time.

Tommy smiled when Tony punched her twice again and she vomited. It still wasn't a scream but they all knew it was only a matter of time.

The beating continued for another twenty minutes, longer than Tommy would have liked. Theresa's lip was split, her eyes were bruised, her nostrils soiled with blood and she was doubled over, soaked in sweat and panting hard as she quivered.

Theresa's brother Tommaso watched on with a cool expression, his dark stare promising death for Tommy and Tony.

Tommy waved Tony back with his gun nozzle and stepped up to Theresa as she slumped to her knees. He tugged out a handkerchief with his free hand and knelt down before her. “You think you can stay silent forever?” he quipped mockingly as he reached out to dab the handkerchief along her split lip.

The woman recoiled from him with a glower of hate.

“Tell you what, tell me where Lincoln Clay and Vito Scaletta are and I'll stop the game,” Tommy offered, “and you and your brother can live.”

Theresa gave him an insult in Italian for an answer.

Tommy tutted and shook his head before he glanced back to Tony and nodded.

Tony moved quickly without warning, reaching for the woman before she had time to brace herself for the next assault.

Tommy smiled when Tony viciously yanked Theresa's arm up, twisted it and pulled it back with a loud, satisfying crack that caused a scream of agony from the woman as the bone broke.

BANG!

“And there it is,” Tommy said calmly as he lowered his smoking pistol, “game over.”

 

Theresa turned cold as she tried to process what had happened. Her vision blurred at the edges and a loud ringing filled her ears as they were momentarily deafened by the close gunshot. Tommy was saying something but she couldn't hear him. Her wide eyes lingered on the black nozzle as he lowered it.

Her pain was gone as quickly as it had come, banished with shock. Everything in her mind told her not to look to the right where her brother was sitting but she felt there was a question that couldn't be answered until she did.

She blinked and her head bobbed forward slightly before Tony's hand yanked her upright again with a sharp tug on her dark hair.

Tommy Marcano blinked in and out of existence. Tommy. Darkness. Tommy. Darkness. The ringing was starting to fade. Look right. Don't do it. Do it. Don't. Theresa fought against herself as her heart started to pound loudly, the sound of its beating replacing the ringing in her ears.

Theresa chanced a glance out of the corner of her eye and immediately regretted it.

Tommaso Navarro was still sitting upright on his knees with his hands bound behind his back only something was wrong.

Theresa forced herself to turn and take in the wrongness.

Tommaso's eyes were open but frozen, full of disbelief and horror. His mouth was parted open slightly and a thick trickle of blood had streaked from it, down his chin and was starting to drip onto the ground.

Theresa couldn't understand it. “Tommy?” she croaked in confusion.

“Mi dispiace passero,” he said softly as blood bloomed at his chest.

Theresa turned numb as Tommaso slumped forward with a low groan.

Tommy Marcano, satisfied with Theresa's reaction, stood upright and pocketed his gun. “Tie her up again,” he ordered Tony.

“Don't you want her dead too?” Tony queried bluntly.

Tommy gave him a thin smile. “Certainly but why rush it? Who in the hell is going to come looking for her out here? If she's lucky she's gator food, if not, she'll starve.”

Tony nodded as he reached for the rope lying in a heap behind him.

Theresa was unresisting as Tony grabbed her hands again and tied them together behind her back. She wasn't even aware of him or the pain of her broken limb. She couldn't fathom what was going on. All Theresa could do was repeat her brother's name and hope for an answer.

“Tommy.”

The whimper of the name drew a pause from Tommy Marcano. He halted in the doorway and looked back to the young woman. Another lifetime and he might have called her niece, hell another mother and he would have accepted her, bastard or no, but she was related to the Navarros for Christ's sakes. Given her age, Tommy figured his brother Sal had sired her when the Navarros were still feigning loyal to him but even at that Tommy couldn't understand it. Why run the risk of a bastard when you had all that power and wealth to protect? Well it wasn't a risk for Tommy at least, he took precautions in that regard and half his chosen partners couldn't conceive anyway.

Tommy stepped out to the early onset of dusk in the bayou. The sky was dark violet smudged with blue and brightened with the haze of a setting sun. It was beautiful even with the flies detracting from it but Tommy had no time for it. He ignored it, cursing as his designer shoes squelched in the damp terrain below him. He took wide strides back to his car and wondered if Theresa might just get sucked under. He figured she would probably last a day or two before opting for suicide by drowning herself in the stagnant water as the smell of her brother's corpse finally overcame her.

Even for Tommy that was a dark image. He halted again and contemplated blasting the girl's brains in as a mercy but he couldn't do it. Sal would look for her eventually, questions would be asked and Tommy wanted his deniability to be as sincere as possible should all the odds go against him and Sal came his way despite thinking Tommy knew nothing about her. He didn't want Tony to have too much to squeal about either, at least if he let something slip the true story would be that they had left Theresa alive.

 


	12. Family

To say things hadn't gone to plan would be a massive fucking understatement. One minute he had had Lincoln Clay right where he had wanted him and the next he was at his mercy. Deep, deep, deep down Tommy Marcano knew his ego was to blame, he had been so fucking determined to prove himself a tough guy, to show he had stones and that no one fucked with his family. A quick death couldn't be enough for Clay so he had opted for something slow, to tie him up and soak him in the same oil mix he was now drenched in and burn him. How the hell could he have known there was a nail sticking out on the pipe Lincoln had been tied too? One lousy, fortunate nail and Lincoln was free of his rope bonds and ready to burn Tommy alive.

The capo squirmed on the floor, bloody teethed and putting on a show of defiance even though he was shit scared. He figured Lincoln was bluffing but the fire was coming closer and Tommy was starting to sweat, literally and figuratively.

Lincoln was turning away, ready to leave him to burn and Tommy couldn't do anything about it because he was soaked in oil and injured and would never be able to get up and run in time.

“If I'm dead so is that Navarro bitch!” Tommy yelled erratically at Lincoln's retreating form.

Lincoln paused and looked back at the Mafiosi quizzically. Lincoln was exhausted and aching from head to toe, as if the beat downs in the ring hadn't been enough, Tommy's men had done a number on him before knocking him out and tying him up. He figured Tommy would say anything to save his skin but he couldn't fathom why the man would lie about the Navarros. How could Tommy even know Theresa?”

Tommy gave Lincoln a half-crazed bloody smile. “I knew, you knew her,” he said triumphantly, “I fucking knew, whore would've sunk us all.” His eyes darted nervously to the ever spreading flames in the room. “You get me away from the fire now,” he commanded, “because if I burn she dies too.”

“What does that mean?” Lincoln snapped. “Where is she?”

Tommy shook his head. “No, I tell you that and I'm dead. You get me out of here now.”

Lincoln frowned back at the man. “Alright Tommy,” he gave in with a snarl, “but I'll be carrying you, so if your men try to shoot me, they're shooting you first.” He bent down and grabbed the man roughly before hoisting him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift.

Tommy scowled as Lincoln started to move, heading to the only doorway that wasn't going up in smoke.

It was nerve racking for Tommy, his perspective was everything that Lincoln passed whilst he speculated over what Lincoln was encountering. There were screams, gunfire, the roar of spreading flames and choking smoke. Twice Tommy had to yell out to his guards to stand down.

Without warning Tommy was thrown violently forward to the ground. As he smacked off the wooden floorboards and rolled he heard the familiar ratatata of machine gun fire before shotgun shells fired. He stayed where he was, winded, sore and too wary of being shot to move.

Within minutes it was over and Lincoln had him tossed over his shoulder again.

“You'd better tell me where she is,” Lincoln growled at him as he continued on.

It took maybe ten minutes for Lincoln to get them out of the The Acadia.

Tommy got one final glimpse of his pride and joy going up in smoke before Lincoln dropped him again and he glimpsed the butt of the shotgun coming to his forehead, then it was darkness.

 

Tommy stirred to a pounding headache and a sensation of nausea. His vision was blurred, his eyes watered and his skull throbbed as he considered going back to unconsciousness. He wanted to throw up but realised quickly that there was tape over his mouth preventing him. Alarmed, he tried to move and became aware of ropes binding his hands together at his back and also binding his feet together.

Next was the sensation of movement, he was still but somehow moving. His eyes darted about as he blinked away the water and tried to clear his dizziness. He realised suddenly that he was in the back seat of a car. Glancing up and ahead he spied Lincoln Clay's stern brown eyes watching him carefully in the rear view mirror.

Lincoln was talking to him but Tommy didn't care. He tested his ropes, wondering if he would have the same luck as Lincoln but he realised swiftly that the bonds were too tight and there was nothing sharp behind him to help.

He frowned as Lincoln turned up the radio, taunting him with the song All Along the Watchtower. By God Tommy hated that song, he didn't like the singer's voice, hell the song itself was just nonsense.

“You people speak of family like you know what that word means,” Lincoln addressed him in a voice deep and sombre. “But you were born into yours, you never had to go looking for some place to belong.”

Tommy watched as Lincoln's lighter clicked repeatedly in the gap between the front seats. He got the message and the lack of subtlety just irritated him.

“Family, to you it's just a God damn last name. If you knew what family really meant you would have never fucked with mine. All that spilled blood, you know what it breeds? Loyalty. Family ain't who you're born with, it's who you die for.”

Tommy felt his stomach jerk upwards as Lincoln slammed down hard on the accelerator and his head smacked hard off the back of the chair behind him. He pondered Lincoln's words and wondered if Lincoln had kept him alive purely for Theresa or if perhaps he had darker motive behind his generosity.

The car hit a few bumps and Tommy tasted vomit again as he glanced up at the windows. There was only the midnight blue of the sky and the shadows of trees to look at. He realised quickly as there were no street lights or sound of traffic that they must be out in the bayou.

Since there was no way Lincoln could possibly know where Theresa was, Tommy had to wonder why they were heading out that way. He realised with a chill that it was probably the same reason he had taken Theresa and her brother there, to torture without interruption and to have a place where bodies wouldn't be found too easily.

Tommy swallowed hard, vowing that he wouldn't crack under torture, that the only way Lincoln was going to learn where Theresa was, was if Tommy got to keep his life. He consoled himself with the thought that Lincoln was young and didn't seem the type to believe in torture.

It was another hour before Lincoln finally halted the car and stepped out.

A few minutes more and Tommy found himself yanked out and dragged across dirt.

Tommy tried to protest but he couldn't make much noise with the tape.

Lincoln made a mocking hushing noise as he positioned him at the edge of a murky lake that shimmered black at the edges as it caught the glare of the car's headlights.

Tommy looked for landmarks as Lincoln yanked him upright to his knees. There was a large, creepy looking manor lingering not too far from them, guarded by an old fence but it looked empty and it was the only building that Tommy could spy.

“Bayou's a big place Tommy,” Lincoln said in a quiet, calm tone as he stepped back from the man. “Dark, hungry, by the time it's through with you there won't be nothing left.”

Tommy was all too conscious of the lake behind him. He could hear the water lapping close to him and smell its swamp odour, stagnant and full of decay. He glanced over his shoulder but only a dark gleam was visible, the night hid its monsters for now.

There was a loud screech before Tommy was blinded by another set of headlights. He squinted at them, trying to spy the car they belonged to. The car halted and the lights went off.

A car door slammed and Tommy filled with dread as he began to make out the features of the approaching figure.

Vito Scaletta, dressed for business rather than swamp, stepped up beside Lincoln with a face filled with fury and promising violence.

“Well, well, Tommy you greasy motherfucker,” Vito greeted him bluntly, “I didn't think it would be long before you fucked up.”

Vito glanced at Lincoln and he frowned. “Ducks is on his way, Quinn and Ren too, better get the truth out of him now before they rip him apart.”

Vito turned another glare back on Tommy and gave him a taunting smile, made all the sinister thanks to the shadows his hat cast on his face. “You get that chickenshit? The Navarro woman you say is going to die, she's got three brothers on her way here now to fuck you up and not one of them believes in a quick death. You had better get talking before they get here.”

Lincoln stepped forward and yanked off the tape on Tommy's mouth at last. “Tommy he isn't kidding,” he said in a low voice. “You're going to have to agree to take us to Theresa otherwise they've no reason to let you live.”

“I'm not taking you,” Tommy retorted hotly with a glare up at Clay, “you think I'm that kind of fool? You'll kill me as soon as we reach her. No, I'll tell you where she is.”

“Yeah you'll lie,” Vito interrupted bluntly, “and run off while we're looking for her. No Tommy,” he shook his head, “you take us to her, that's your only choice. Why the fuck do you even have her?”

Tommy gave Vito an ugly, bloodstained grin. “She's a whore in league with you and Clay, why do you think I have her?”

Vito sighed scornfully. “Tommy you stupid fuckface she's hardly enemy number one for you.”

Tommy shrugged. “Well I'm not telling you where she is.”

Vito smiled this time and plucked out a cigar cutter. “I was hoping you'd make this interesting Tommy. You know I figured Grecco was the closest I was going to get to Sal for a while but here you are, all wrapped up like the perfect present for me.”

Lincoln stepped away allowing Vito to step behind Tommy, instantly filling him with unease. Tommy squirmed, trying to twist his head to see what Vito was doing. When the cigar cutter clamped onto one of his fingers and sliced the tip off, Tommy knew.

Tommy let out a howl of pain and tried to yank his hand away but the ropes and Vito's firm grasp prevented him.

“You sound like a baby,” Vito mocked him, “have some fucking balls.”

Tommy yelled again when another fingertip was removed.

“This is what you get for trying to play with the big boys.”

“Fuck you carpet-bagger!” Tommy snarled back at him.

“Tommy that's not a promise to show us where Theresa is now, is it?” Vito queried sardonically.

There was another loud screech of tyres along with the splashing of muck as the wheels skidded against the mud of the swamp.

Tommy glanced ahead with fresh unease as another set of headlights illuminated their brief section of the bayou.

One car door opened before the car even stopped and a man sprung out of it and came charging up the dirt. “Where is that motherfucker?!” Renzio Navarro's voice roared out of the darkness. “I'm going to nail him to the ground with his dick and stab out his eyes! He's a God damn dead fucker walking!”

Lincoln shot Vito a wary look whilst Tommy tried very hard to appear calm.

Ren came storming up to them with a gun out in one hand and a knife in the other. Spying Tommy tied up on the ground, he immediately raised his gun and took aim.

“Ren don't do anything rash,” Vito cautioned him, “he has to tell us where they are.”

They? Tommy glanced up at Vito in confusion at his word choice.

Vito shot Tommy an ugly smile. “That's right asshole, we know Tommaso Navarro was with his sister Theresa, strange how you haven't mentioned him.”

“I ain't gonna shoot fuckface here,” Ren snarled as he fixed a predatory gaze on Tommy, “that would be making things too damn fast.”

Two more car doors shut and Quinn and Bobby arrived to flank Tommy, both with their eyes fuelled with a mad rage.

Bobby was wearing a grey suit with a black tie and a white fedora with a black ribbon about it. Despite the warmth of the night he didn't appear to be sweating in his suit and managed to appear equal parts stylish and crazy. By comparison, Ren was half-gangster and half-summer ready in an open, short sleeved grey shirt, a white t-shirt, grey trousers and a fedora to match Bobby's. Quinn was similar but his shirt had long sleeves and he hadn't bothered with a hat.

“Tommy Marcano,” Bobby spat out his name, “I hear you know where our brother and sister are. I guess you don't know much about the Navarro family if you thought it was a good idea to take them. I'll make it brief for you.” Bobby stepped forward and raised his right hand to his chest. “I'm Roberto Navarro, I'm the one who's going to cut off your hands and feed 'em to the gators.” He gestured back to his right. “This is my brother Quinn, he's the one who's gonna slice off your ears and give 'em to the birds.” He then gestured ahead to his left. “And this is Ren, he's gonna stab out your eyes and make sure you don't bleed out on us. He's got medical training, knows how to keep a fucker alive for a long time. You want to wait us out Tommy?”

Tommy stared up at Bobby and believed that the lunatic meant every word he said. He swallowed hard before retorting. “What makes you certain Theresa and that other brother of yours have the time for this nonsense?” he queried coolly. “All this time you're wasting here, she and him could bleeding out right now.”

“Well if that's the case you're dead motherfucker,” Ren snapped at him, “and I will make it God damn slow for you.”

“She ain't dead yet,” Vito spoke up, “or you would have never mentioned her.”

Vito stepped away from Tommy, moving to stand beside Lincoln. “He's right though Ducks,” he said as he glanced Bobby's way, “time is a wasting, why don't you just get down to it.”

Bobby nodded as he tugged out a knife and started walking towards Tommy. “Alright shitkicker, which hand you like best?” he queried as the madness in his dark stare seemed to fill his eyes.

Tommy shrank back until he felt the cool splash of water on his rear, then he froze up, fearful to move any further back lest an alligator get him.

“What if I do take you to them? How do I know you won't kill me then? What's in it for me?” he snapped as he glowered up at Bobby.

“A quicker death!” Ren snapped.

Bobby glared at his brother over his shoulder before returning his stare to Tommy. “Now, now we can't get something for nothing,” he said calmly. “I'm a man of my word Mr. Marcano, if I say we won't kill you then we won't kill you. If you take us to our brother and sister tonight then we won't kill you.”

Tommy frowned at this, Bobby did sound sincere but Tommy didn't know the man. Still he wasn't exactly in a position to bargain. He thought of the dead Navarro brother and wondered what would happen when they found him. His gaze darted nervously to Ren as he wondered if he might snap and shoot him up in a rage.

“I'll tell you where they are,” Tommy offered, “Clay can stay with me, then when you get to them and see they're where I say they are, then he can let me go.”

Vito and Ren both frowned at this. “One of you should stay too,” Vito suggested as he looked to Bobby.

Bobby nodded agreeably. “Alright, Quinn can stay. You try to cut and run Tommy and Quinn will slice your feet right off.”

Tommy swallowed again. Quinn seemed less murderous but only in comparison to Ren who was glowering at Tommy and miming slashing motions with his knife. Quinn was another brother and Tommy still feared a violent retribution when they found their deceased brother. He struggled to think of a way out of the situation, fully believing that if he didn't start showing signs of co-operation then Bobby and his brothers would opt for torture.

“Let me hurt him Bobby,” Ren begged with a grin at Tommy, “little skin peeling won't kill him.”

“Shit, I'll tell you,” Tommy snapped as he looked to Bobby, “just take him with you and give me your word that I leave alive.”

Bobby gave Tommy a careful stare before taking off his hat to reveal a thick crop of greying hair. He pressed the hat against his chest and said solemnly, “I give you my word, none of us will kill you providing you give us the right directions to our brother and sister.” He placed the hat back on his head.

Tommy nodded in a quick acceptance as he glimpsed Ren waving his knife at him. “Alright, they're near the gator farm,” Tommy confessed.

“You want to narrow that down?” Bobby suggested as he raised his eyebrows. “There are probably more than a few of 'em out here.”

Tommy scowled over at Lincoln. “He knows the one, Johnny Peralta ran it for me. You get there, there's a shack to the south of it, not far, only shack out there, part of a forgotten distillery.”

Lincoln nodded and looked to Vito. “I'll give you directions,” he offered.

“Sure kid.”

“You and Quinn keep Tommy company,” Bobby said to Lincoln, “once we find Theresa and Tommaso I'll head back here to confirm it.” He gave Tommy a cool stare. “You tell a lie about their whereabouts Tommy and I will carve you up slowly.”

“I haven't but you remember when you find them that you promised you wouldn't kill me,” Tommy retorted with an anxious glance at Quinn and then Lincoln.

Bobby nodded. “Alright, deal's a deal. Lincoln, give us the directions.”

 

\---

Even though Vito had been expecting it he still hadn't prepared himself to see it. Tommy had been too evasive about Tommaso, too keen not to lead them here, of course Tommaso had to be dead. They were in the shack as Tommy had said. Tommaso was face down in the dirt displaying that his hands had been bound behind his back with rope. Theresa was beside him, her hands free from her bonds, soaked in blood and covered in scratches. Her right arm was about Tommy's stiff form and her left arm was limp and crooked beside her. She murmured her brother's name over and over until she heard Ren's violent curses.

Theresa glanced up at the shocked and unhappy trio with a wild stare of hate and vengeance.

Ren started to swear rapidly in Italian whilst Bobby knelt down before his sister. “Theresa mi-” he began softly.

“Don't say it,” she growled out quietly, “don't. They were his last words. He apologised when it was all my fault. He followed me and I led him right into trouble, like I always do.” She shook her head angrily.

Vito stood behind Bobby, silently observing the grisly scene. He saw how Theresa's face was swollen and covered in wounds, her right eye was promising a bruise, her lip was split and bloody, her nose was caked in dry blood, her brow had a deep cut on it and her cheeks were coloured with budding bruises.

Bobby dipped his head slightly before extending his right hand to his sister and resting it on her head gently. “Theresa you would never knowingly have led Tommaso to his death so enough of that nonsense. You were here with him in his final moments, that is the important thing.”

Bobby glared unfavourably in Ren's direction when Ren started kicking one of the wooden walls and yelling. “That fuck dies slow!” He dug both of his hands into his hair and yelled.

Theresa let out a moan of pain.

“Easy Tessie,” Bobby soothed as he patted her gently on her crown, “you're going to get to a doctor soon.” He was purposefully cool with his sister, knowing that if he tried to console her he might have to give into his own grief and he didn't have the time for that now.

Bobby stood up and gave Ren a careful look. He ordered Ren in Italian, “Renzio you need to take care of Tommaso now. You're his older brother, see him home.” He turned his attention to Vito and let his boss see the sorrow in his brown stare. “Vito can you get Theresa to a doctor please? I need to return to Lincoln and finish this.”

Vito nodded. “Sure thing.”

The mob boss could see that Bobby was struggling to hold back his emotions. He understood, there would be plenty of time for grief later.

“Are you going to kill him?” Ren snarled. “He knew, fuckface knew Tommy was lying dead here all this time.” Ren shook his head. “Jesus Bobby, he knew Theresa was here with his corpse and he delayed and he delayed. Fuck, you'd better hurt him, you'd better drag it out, make him suffer.”

“I gave my word that I wouldn't,” Bobby retorted carefully, “but trust that he won't be leaving the bayou alive.”

Ren frowned. “Alright, help me get him out first.” He looked back to the body of his brother and a sob escaped him. “Oh shit.” He rubbed away the tears budding at his eyes roughly with one hand.

“Save your grief for later Renzio,” Bobby ordered softly in Italian. “We will have the rest of our lives to weep but now we must be strong to see him home.”

Ren nodded and muttered, “fuck.”

As Ren and Bobby headed to Tommy, Vito stepped up to Theresa. He crouched before her and surveyed her injuries, her left arm looked broken and her legs were bruised and bloody with a strained ankle possibly. “Hey Tess,” he greeted bluntly. “You alright if I carry you?”

She attempted a shrug and let out a wince as her left arm protested. “I can walk,” she muttered.

“I'm sure you can but it'll be quicker if I carry you,” Vito reasoned.

She turned her miserably to the ground. “Okay.”

Vito reached over and gave her right shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I'll get you to a doctor real quick,” he promised.

Theresa didn't respond.

 

 


	13. Something Fishy in Pointe Verdun

Lincoln took in Vito's casual attire quickly. He was wearing his light brown pilot's jacket over a white polo shirt with light brown slacks. He gazed over at Lincoln calmly and seemed to read the questioning stare in his brown eyes.

“Lincoln I know we have a lot to do and I'm with you on it a hundred percent. You call and I'll be there and there won't be any distractions. Until then, I'm going to be here because the Navarros need the help.”

Lincoln nodded in understanding. Here was Tommaso Marcano's apartment, which Vito and Theresa had returned to with some obvious reluctance.

“When is the funeral?” Lincoln pried.

“Tuesday,” Vito retorted bluntly. He plucked out a cigarette and a lighter and lit it. He turned away from Lincoln as he took a deep draught and glanced out the greasy kitchen window before he puffed smoke out against the glass. He turned back to Lincoln with a cool stare. “Tess needs the time,” he explained.

“How is she?” Lincoln queried with a sincere concern.

“She's shut down,” Vito admitted. “Just sits, quiet, high on painkillers, completely vacant.” He took another inhale on the cigarette but held Lincoln's gaze as he did. “You think you could get that Anna girl round to see her?” he quipped as he exhaled smoke. “It might get a reaction out of her. Tommy said she and Anna lived together for a while.”

Lincoln tensed up at this, in the chaos of Tommaso Navarro's murder he had let Anna slip from his mind. The mix up with the Navarro siblings and Tommy Marcano had brought Sal and his minions straight back to the forefront of his mind. He had pushed them to one side because of Anna and Theresa and they had taken full advantage. Tommy had blind-sighted him and Theresa and Tommaso, and Tommaso had paid the price for it.

“I don't know,” Lincoln answered in his deep voice, “she's still unstable but I'll try.”

Vito nodded. “Might be good for them, maybe they'll calm each other or maybe we'll have two fucking crazies together.”

“Two people who the Ensanglante are after,” Lincoln reminded him.

Vito shrugged. “If they come, they come, we'll take care of it.” He gave Lincoln a cool stare. “You think Sal knows about Tommy yet?”

Lincoln frowned. “I don't know, nothing much of him to find and I don't think the gators are talking.”

Lincoln thought back to the youngest Marcano brother's demise just three nights ago. Bobby Navarro had kept his word, he hadn't killed the man, he had simply sliced him open before throwing him into the water to let the alligators do it. Drawn to the blood they had come quickly and Tommy had died gargling water and screaming for mercy.

Vito nodded. “He got better than he deserved,” he muttered, “better than he gave Tommy or Tess,” he added.

“And do we know how they ended up with him yet?” Lincoln queried.

Vito frowned this time. “No,” he admitted. “I assume they were taken because of their suspected ties to us, Tommy Marcano tortured them for information but he didn't get it, I know that. Then because he was short on time and had the fights to make he resorted to killing Tommaso.”

“But not Tessa,” Lincoln pointed out stonily.

Vito met his serious stare and held it with his own. “Kid he had his men beat the shit out of her, he made a game of it, said if she screamed her brother would die and she did scream in the end because they broke her arm now she has to live with that. She seriously believes if she hadn't screamed Tommaso would still be here.” He tugged out the cigarette and stubbed it out in an ashtray on the kitchen counter before pointing at Lincoln. “You and me kid both know that's bullshit but she won't be told otherwise.”

 

\---

Hank McGahee didn't know how to feel. His immediate thought was that they were fucked, at the very least Bear Donnelly was fucked.

“Why did you call me?” Hank queried dryly as he gave Bear an unfavourable look.

The drug dealer frowned back at his former Pointe Verdun companion. “Shit really?” he snapped sardonically. “Hey, most of 'em I turf out to the streets, how they deal with their high ain't my fucking problem. I just thought since you were sweet on this one you'd want the burden.” He folded his arms and scowled down at the woman on his filthy living room floor. “I can toss her down an alleyway if you'd prefer.”

“Yeah then you're definitely losing your head to Ducks Navarro,” Hank retorted tauntingly. He frowned at Bear. “I heard he told you last time he'd take your hands.”

Bear rubbed a hand down his dark stubble. “Ah shit,” he cursed. “She paid double alright, said her brother got whacked and that she needed it.”

Hank nodded. He had attended the funeral last week with Burke who had gone only to keep Lincoln from getting targeted at it, or so he had claimed.

“Which brother was it?” Bear pried. “Wasn't that psycho fuck Renzio by any chance? Asshole broke my leg once.”

Hank stepped up to the woman on the floor propped against against the soiled couch before looking Bear's way again. “And why was that?” he queried dryly.

Bear sighed. “He figured that dickhead Ducks making threats wasn't enough.”

“Well apparently it wasn't,” Hank scolded, “you haven't learnt not to deal to her.” He sank in a crouch before the young woman.

Theresa Navarro was rolling her head about as saliva trickled down her chin. Her broken arm was free from its sling and hanging limp in her lap. Her pupils filled her eyes and were completely unfocused and her bare left arm was budding with bruising around a small bloody hole. She looked deceptively helpless but Hank knew she had had a hand, maybe literally just one hand, in a few of the Marcano's businesses going up in the hellfire and smoke from explosives over the past week. He was also quite certain that the rumours of a dark haired woman shooting dead two Marcano underlings were connected to her as well. What Hank didn't know was under which brother's supervision she had carried this out. Apparently the explosives had been military grade which made the Irishman think Lincoln Clay had a hand in it too.

“It's my party and I'll cry if I want to,” she sang in a hoarse voice.

“Jesus Bear her arm's broken, she did not inject herself,” Hank pointed out.

Bear tugged off his brown cap and squeezed it against his chest. “Fuck, which brother was it Hank?” he demanded with a sense of urgency to his voice.

“Tommy,” Hank murmured, “the youngest one. He was buried last Tuesday, how the hell don't you know that?”

“Ah shit Renzio is going to fuck me up good, that wop has always had it in for me. Get her out of here Hank, I'll give you a hundred easy if you say you found her on the other side of town. Say she got high in River Row.”

Hank laughed bitterly at this. “That's Vito Scaletta's turf,” he reminded Bear, “no one is going to believe she got it there.”

“My fault for having a weakness for crying women I suppose,” Bear grumbled. “She begged me Hank, said she couldn't see him anymore, she even offered to blow me she was that desperate.” Seeing the look of ire he received from his fellow Irishman he held his hands up in protest. “I said no, swear to God. She had enough cash anyway.”

Hank turned his attention back to Theresa, she was covered in sweat and foam was starting to show in the saliva. “Shit Tess,” he muttered. He reached out and stroked her dark matted hair lightly. “Help me get her to the car Bear, you're going to owe me for this.”

“Sure Hank just say you found her on the street, please,” Bear begged.

Theresa let out a groan of protest when Hank picked her up in his arms. “Come on now Tess, time to find a doctor to flush this shit. What did you give her anyway Bear? It better have been clean.”

“Well,” Bear protested with some side-eye. He frowned at Hank's glower. “Hey she is a Navarro, I didn't give her poison, I know my body wouldn't be turning up anytime soon if I did that. Look if she's going to take it anyway isn't it better she gets it from a good source?”

Hank sighed. “You practising your defence for Ducks? He won't hear it, his brother just got killed, he'll just shoot you, if you're lucky. Come on, open the door.”

Bear sighed and pushed open the white door that led from his apartment to the concrete balcony.

“How did she get here anyway?” Hank queried as he struggled to hold the squirming woman.

“She got me to pick her up from a cafe in Frisco, said she took a bus there,” he admitted.

Hank glanced over at the drug dealer in disbelief. “Jesus Bear, you went out of your way to help her.”

Bear gave an awkward shrug. “Cash was good Hank, everyone's got to make a living. You boost cars, you're no saint.”

“Yeah but car thefts doesn't fuck off the Navarro brothers,” Hank scorned him. “Getting their sister high is suicide.”

Bear stepped in front of him suddenly blocking his way to the stairs. “What are you going to tell them?” he demanded as he squared up to Hank.

Hank gave Bear a cool stare in response, entirely unthreatened by the younger man. “I ain't going to rat you to them, you're still Pointe Verdun and we stick together though God knows you aren't making it easy.”

There was the sound of liquid spattering onto the ground as Theresa vomited.

“Shit, let me get her to a doctor before she goes comatose,” Hank ordered.

Bear stepped to one side. “Alright, she didn't overdose though,” he said defensively. “I measured the dose, she's fine.”

“She's not fucking fine,” Hank grumbled. “Come on and open the car for me.”

Hank carried Theresa down to the waiting black sports car. Hank had considered a car more subtle but figured given his destination he might need something was speed. Now he was glad for his choice.

Bear helped get the car open to deposit Theresa on the front passenger seat.

Hank didn't bother with a goodbye, he got into the driver's seat and took off with a rumble of the engine and a squeal of tyres.

Hank drove until he crossed the border from Frisco Fields into Pointe Verdun. He headed for his low class home close to Burke's scrapyard. There were two apartment blocks that were chiefly occupied by the members of Burke's Irish gang. It made the neighbourhood lively and safe for those in the Irish gang and noisy and dangerous for anyone outside it. Normally Hank felt happy to see his gang members in the stone courtyard of the blocks sharing drinks and jokes but now he filled with dread at the sight of them. Theresa Navarro was far too well known amongst them, there would be no concealing her or her condition. Still, to go anywhere else with her would be a risk for him. At least here he might,  might be safe from the wrath of her brothers who would take action first and ask questions later.

Hank opened his door and nodded to Connor and Larkin as they looked his way.

“Nice wheels, who'd you get them from?” Connor called.

Hank ignored him as he moved round to the passenger door.

“Hey Hank, it's been a while.”

Hank tensed at the voice and glanced over his shoulder at Nicki Burke. Reluctance heiress to the Burke empire and all the trappings and curses that came with it, she was dressed down as usual and retreating for her own car.

“Evening,” Hank retorted calmly. He hoped Nicki would continue on to her car and held back a frown when she came over to him instead.

Before either of them could say anything else there was the sound of muffled vomiting from within Hank's car. Hank sighed and tugged open the door, time to begin the show then.

“Holy shit is that...” Nicki trailed off as she stared at the sweating, grey faced woman Hank plucked out of his car.

“Spinning, spinning, twist again, around and round and up and down,” Theresa mumbled as Hank swung her over his right shoulder.

Nicki looked at Hank fearfully. “Hank what is she doing here?” she demanded. “And what the hell is she on?”

“She needs help,” Hank murmured as he closed the car door. “I found her like this, don't know what she's on.”

“Shit Hank I know you're sweet on her but you shouldn't have brought her here,” Nicki scorned him.

Hank looked back at Nicki calmly. “If I had taken her home like this do you think they would've waited for a story? Or do you think my brains would be on Navarro carpet right now?”

Nicki frowned as she thought about it. Word had spread about Tommy Navarro's demise and everyone knew it had sent his already psychotic brothers further over the edge. “Yeah, okay,” she muttered. “Shit, let's get her into your apartment then.” She raised her reddish-brown eyebrows slightly. “That's where you're going, right?”

Hank nodded as he started to walk.

“You need a better story for when they do come,” Nicki murmured. “You didn't just find her Hank.”

Hank dipped his head slightly as his companions paused in their partying to gawk over at the groaning woman in his grasp. Many of them started to frown and exchange looks of worry as they recognised her even in her sullied state of high.

Theresa giggled as Hank walked and marvelled at the 'odd shade of the sky' as she stared down at the concrete ground.

“She rang me,” Hank lied, “from a payphone, high and looking a ride.”

“That a double entendre?” Nicki quipped dryly as they entered one of the apartment blocks. “You're not still fucking her are you? That woman has one dangerous vagina.”

Hank snickered at this as he struggled up the concrete stairs with her. “Nicki we're just friends.”

They entered Hank's apartment on the third floor and Hank abandoned Theresa to his couch before heading to his phone. He scratched at his brown hair before looking over at Nicki. “I don't know who to ring,” he admitted.

“Lincoln,” Nicki suggested, “he's tied up with her, he'll keep her brothers from overreacting. Look I'll do it, it will sound better coming from me.”

Hank nodded agreeably at that.

 

 

It was just under an hour before Lincoln Clay arrived in Pointe Verdun. Unfortunately for Hank he didn't come alone.

Hank opened his door at the loud banging on it and almost instantly found himself forced back against a wall as a hand put a choke hold on his throat.

“What the fuck happened?” Vito Scaletta snarled as he glowered down at Hank.

Hank gave him a biting grin. “Why hello Mr. Scaletta, welcome to my humble abode,” he greeted, his voice restrained by the grasp on his throat. “I didn't know you were coming.”

“Lincoln what the hell?” Nicki snapped as she took a step towards them. “Why is he here?”

Lincoln frowned at Vito before giving Nicki an apologetic look. “He's got the doctor,” he explained as he gestured to the older Italian man lingering behind him, “and either he came or one of the Navarros did.”  
The doctor, Dr. Gianni Bruno, stepped into the apartment calmly and headed to the woman rolling and giggling about on the couch. “Miss Navarro,” he murmured politely, “it seems you and I are becoming very well acquainted lately.”

It was Dr. Bruno who had treated Theresa's broken arm and other injuries after Tommy Marcano's beating. As a doctor he had worked for the army by developing 'treatments' to enhance their performance on the battlefield which meant he was no stranger to drugs. An associate of Vito's, he had earned the moniker 'mob doctor' for his assistance to Vito and his allies.

Vito glanced Theresa's way before turning a glare back on Hank and taking a tighter grasp of his throat. “Who the fuck gave her the drugs?” he snarled. “Who?” He smacked Hank's head off the wall.

“Christ he helped her!” Nicki protested. “You ungrateful asshole, she rang him and he went and got her to help her. Lincoln,” she turned a glare on the younger male, “this is absurd, no one had to call you about her. It's not for us to babysit Italian drug users.”

Lincoln nodded before stepping forward and taking a grasp of Vito's shoulder. “Vito calm down,” he ordered the man, “this isn't helping and we both know Hank would only help Theresa.”

Vito let out a snarl before lowering his hand from Hank's throat to press a finger into his chest. “He knows who got her high. She's a broken arm Lincoln she hardly injected herself, and he knows who did it. I want a name.”

“Vito she asked for the drugs and you know it,” Lincoln cautioned him, “which makes her responsible. Come on, let's just get her well enough to take back to her brothers.”

“Ah fuck,” Vito cursed before he finally stepped back from Hank. He immediately paced over to the doctor and Theresa.

Hank smoothed down his wrinkled cream shirt and glanced up at Lincoln.

Lincoln gave the man an apologetic look. “Sorry Hank.”

Hank shrugged. “I'm fine,” he murmured. “Better him than a Navarro.”

There was another loud thumping on the door drawing all eyes to it.

“Open the fuck up!” Burke's voice roared. “I know you're in there Scaletta, coming to my territory without so much as a fucking hello, you ignorant dago fuck!”

Lincoln glanced Nicki's way. She folded her arms and looked back at him calmly. “I didn't tell him,” she remarked, “but I didn't have to, you're right beside his scrapyard.”

Hank headed for the door nervously. He opened it and was almost instantly smacked back by it as Burke pushed it open and came storming in with a gun raised in his right hand.

“Oh here we go,” Vito muttered.

Burke headed for Vito with the gun pointed in his direction. He reeked of alcohol and his limp was more apparent but it didn't seem to faze his aim. “Have you no fuckin' manners?!” he snapped. “If I headed into your fish joint without notice you'd have a fit!”

Lincoln was quick to intercept Burke, stepping between him and Vito. He waved Burke down and said, “he's not here on business Burke, it's a personal matter.”

“Aye the drugged out whore,” Burke snapped as he turned an unfavourable glare in Theresa's direction.

Theresa flashed a lopsided smile at Burke as she cocked her head and flipped him the bird with a hand that swayed left and right. She giggled as she fell backwards against the couch and half-slid down it.

“That's enough,” Vito retorted angrily as he frowned at Burke. “One of your own brought her here, I'm just coming to take her home.”

“You know I get you liking seafood and all Scaletta but her fishy hole isn't worth it,” Burke scoffed him.

“Oh damn,” Lincoln muttered. He braced as Vito tried to go for Burke with a snarl and a punch. Lincoln blocked the punch and barely managed to hold the Italian back. He was surprised by Vito's show of strength, sure the man had been in the army but that was twenty odd years ago.

“Let me at him kid, he fucking deserves it,” Vito snapped, “and you don't want to keep getting in the middle of it.”

Burke laughed at Vito's scowl before letting out a loud belch. “Fuck I was just yanking your chain you dumb fuck but you actually are riding that donkey aren't you?” He let out a hiccup. “You wouldn't be so pissed if you weren't.”

“Burke I swear to Christ!” Vito snapped. He broke free from Lincoln, darted round his side and was ready to punch the Irishman until Nicki intervened.

“Enough already!” she roared at them as she stepped between them. “Pair of childish pigs!” she scorned them as she folded her arms and glared from one to the other. “Da, you're drunk and no good for anything right now. Mr. Scaletta, you're old enough to know better than rising to a drunk's taunts and you're lucky taunts is all you're getting for coming here without an invitation, this is the territory of the Irish gang and many of remember how well you served Marcano.”

Vito frowned back at the young woman but didn't say anything. Instead he relaxed his stance and shrugged before reaching into his pocket. His frown deepened as he felt the nozzle of Burke's gun close to the side of his face. “Burke put that the fuck down before you hurt yourself,” he said coolly.

“What you reaching for there Scaletta?” Burke demanded.

“Smokes because I fucking need one,” the mob boss retorted tiredly.

“Fine,” Burke grumbled.

“Burke put the damn gun down,” Lincoln ordered.

Burke frowned back at him but obeyed, lowering his gun hand by his side.

Vito tugged out a packet of cigarettes and from it produced one. He then then returned the packet to his inner jacket pocket and produced a lighter.

“Let's twist again,” Theresa's slurred voice sung weakly, “like we did last summer.” She paused to vomit onto Hank's wooden floor. Once she was done vomiting she instantly resumed singing. “Oh round and round and round we gooo again.”

Dr. Bruno looked at her with mild admiration, in awe of how quickly she resumed her song, unwavered by her spell of sickness.

“I'm sleepy doc,” she murmured as she tried to focus on him and failed, “and life's shit, you got something for that?”

“Hmm no sleeping just yet,” the doctor retorted calmly, “you might need the opposite of that, some mild adrenaline so you don't slip into shock.” He gave her a gentle smile. “What were you given Miss Navarro?”

“Oblivion,” she murmured, “but it's slow.”

Theresa leaned over the couch and started vomiting again but this time it was violent and the vomit that came up was watery and tainted with a foamy substance.

The doctor sighed. “Too much to hope for a coherent answer I suppose.” He glanced over his shoulder to his boss. “What is she worth to you Vito?”

“What does that mean?” Hank snapped.

The doctor ignored the Irishman and kept a calm stare on Vito.

Vito took another deep draught from his cigarette. “Break it down doc,” he ordered.

“She's conscious so there's been no overdosing but I don't know what she's on, it's poison in her veins either way and there is a risk she could go into shock.”

“You're exaggerating,” Hank scorned him, “she'd have done it already if she was o.ding.” Despite his words the doubt was evident in his eyes as he looked at the woman. Theresa was trembling violently now, almost as if she was taking a seizure.

“Oh fuck,” the woman muttered between dry heaving as the vomit ceased.

The doctor shook his head and grabbed the needle marked arm to steady it and turn it so the others could view it. The flesh about it had bruised and swollen up and the veins around it were almost purple.

“That's infection,” the doctor said coolly as he released the trembling limb. “Now I can give her adrenaline, then antibiotics, start the treatment, she'll need a good blast of them. Then you have to prepare for the come down, might need to consider a safer substitute to nurse her through that. Before the vomit I could smell whiskey, she's been drinking as well as shooting up, be thankful she's still breathing. All in all it's expensive treatment Vito. She could be worse certainly, comatose, arm past saving, but being better doesn't guarantee life. Whatever she took, maybe she didn't take much but it doesn't matter, it's not agreeing with her.”

“Get it done doc,” Vito retorted coolly as he flicked ash onto the floor. He stepped over to stand beside the doctor and crouched so that he was eye level with the woman. “Tess, what did you take and how did you take it?”

Theresa gave Vito a bitter smile. “Vito can I tell you something?” she queried quietly.

Vito nodded.

“Little closer,” she said as she beckoned him with one hand.

Vito leaned forward.

“It's now or never,” she started to sing out of tune, “come hold me tight. Kiss me my darling, be mine tonight. Tomorrow will be too late.” Theresa paused and let out a spluttering couch as she flopped back against the couch. “Too late, always too late,” she mumbled. She pressed a hand to her brow and groaned. “Shit, nothing will stay still.”

“Well isn't that romantic,” Burke sneered. “That what you like about her Scaletta, that God awful cat's wailing?”

“Awww,” Theresa cooed mockingly as she smiled up at Vito, “do you like me then?”

Vito sighed as he stood upright and took another puff on his cigarette. “Tess if I didn't I sure as fuck wouldn't be in paddy town playing nice,” he retorted bluntly.

Burke gave Lincoln a scathing look. “That mean you like her too Lincoln?” He belched again.

“No I'm just a masochist,” Lincoln lamented.

 

 


	14. Revenge and Reveal

John Donovan frowned up at the X-ed out photograph of Tommy Marcano. It was good that the man was dead but it was not good that Lincoln hadn't done the deed or that it had happened so secretly there would always be some doubt. Word had gotten to John that Sal was mostly certain that the rumours about his youngest brother's demise in the bayou were true and that Lincoln Clay had something to do with it but with no body Sal was willing to permit a small grain of hope for his brother's survival.

“Just tell me why you couldn't put a bullet in him?” John asked as he moved his cigarette to the corner of his mouth with his tongue. He glanced over across his squalid apartment at Lincoln crossly. 

“It wouldn't have been right man,” Lincoln retorted quietly, “Bobby had to avenge his brother.”

“Seriously Lincoln, if Tommy Marcano was going to die why did it matter who did it? From what you say Bobby didn't even technically kill him anyway. You should have put a bullet in him and left him for Sal to find, that way the Navarro brother would have been avenged but you still would have gotten to show Sal that you mean business.” John shook his head scornfully and puffed on his cigarette. “This Navarro, Ensanglante shit has you distracted, consider Tommy Marcano a reminder of the real goal.”

Lincoln frowned as he looked over at John. The blonde was right and it was a thought that had crossed Lincoln's mind several times. He had let the Marcano side of things slide and it had bit him in the ass hard and poor Tommaso Navarro had to pay the price for it. “He didn't have to torture them,” Lincoln murmured grimly. “He had them in the bayou for hours.”

John looked thoughtful as he stepped up to the ashtray on the cluttered coffee table and stubbed out his cigarette. “No he didn't, he could have just killed them, makes you wonder why dear old Tess didn't get a bullet too. Honestly Lincoln, you seem really cut up about this, why? You didn't know Tommaso and he was no saint.”

“No,” Lincoln mused as he looked to John again. “It's weird man, before I met Theresa, Tommaso was just another criminal, on my side but still, a psychotic killer for sure. Then I see him with his sister and he has this whole other side. I just...I can't see him as deserving of that fate, you know?”

John sighed and shook his head before scratching at his right ear. “No Lincoln I don't know, if there's a hell he's burning in it, the guy killed people for money.” Seeing Lincoln's scowl, he added hastily, “alright, alright, he killed people with questionable morals for money, no innocents died at his hand as far as I know so maybe he's got lucky and hit purgatory, if it's real, which it's not. Shit man, we're all going to hell if it's there, you and me. You think I deserve that kind of end?”

“No,” Lincoln admitted. “You don't. It was senseless, that's all.”

“Yes Lincoln, just like the war according to some people,” John pointed out. “Tommaso is a casualty of war although,” he paused with a thoughtful look, “you really need to push the issue of how he and Tess came to be in Tommy Marcano's company. You say senseless, I say there's something else to it.”

Lincoln nodded. “I know and I asked but Vito got ratty about it. Anyway, you said not to get distracted with this anymore, right?”

John gave Lincoln a biting smile. “Right but we both know you're not going to listen to me. You're going to check in on Anna and then Theresa, my only question is, is this before or after you explain to Burke and Cassandra why Vito got to see Tommy die and they didn't?”

Lincoln winced slightly at this. It had been a little foolish of him to invite one underboss, it seemed like playing favourites but in the moment Lincoln hadn't been thinking of Marcano business and that was the fucking problem, he had been thinking of Navarro business so Vito had gotten an invite along with the Navarro siblings to question Tommy Marcano and help with his demise.

“I know, I've put it off too long,” Lincoln admitted, “with the funeral and Theresa's little drugs bust in Irish Point.”

John shook his head again. “Listen to yourself Lincoln, you need to get away from this lunatic family.”

“You found her man, remember?”

John shrugged. “I know and I'm really starting to wish I left her in the swamp.” John took a long, thoughtful draw on his cigarette before letting out a satisfactory puff of smoke. He gave Lincoln a serious stare. “She's too fucked for fixing,” he said sombrely.

 

\---

Tony Moreau knew he was screwed. Tommy Marcano had to be dead and Tony couldn't exactly go begging his brother Sal for favours because that would mean confessing what he and Tommy had done to Sal's own daughter. He was considering contacting his cousin Chester to see if he could gain favour with Olivia Marcano but for now staying in public was enough.

He was up in Frisco Fields sitting in a Joey's All American diner clutching at a cup of lukewarm coffee as if it were a life preserve. It was a sticky, sunny afternoon and the diner was hiving with life. It was the one spot in this wealthy section of New Bordeaux for the workers who kept the Frisco Fields residents in their high class lifestyles to grab a bite and take a brief load off. The television was on, a newsreader narrating the latest actions of Lincoln Clay and his cohorts, although the reader didn't actually know or name the perpetrators.

Tony glanced up wearily at the sight. He could hear the young woman gave that scream he had been hungering for and he could still feel a shadow of the pleasure it had given him. He hadn't really cared much about her being Sal's bastard when he figured she was doomed to die but now he wondered and worried. He hadn't heard from Tommy in days and that Navarro bitch was still alive, he'd heard on the rumour mill about her brother's funeral and her standing there with a broken arm. Tony knew they only way she and her brother had been recovered was if Tommy had given up their location. Only he and Tony had known it after all.

Tony glanced back down at his cup of coffee. Well for now he was safe.

BANG! BANG!

The gunfire rang out in time with the chime of the bell as the diner's door was pushed open.

“Everyone on the fucking ground! 'Cept you Tony fuckface, you get on your feet!”

There was the sound of panic as the patrons screamed, pleaded, trembled and tried to dive beneath the tables and booths. Tony copied suit, diving to the ground and ready to reach for the gun in his jacket's inner pocket.

Tony glimpsed a woman slumped against the counter, clutching her arm and wailing as red streamed from the limb. His eyes widened slightly at the image, Theresa had yelled just once at her injury but it had been enough.

BANG! BANG!

A glass coffee pot on the main counter shattered in a hundred pieces of glass spilling brown liquid everywhere. Two cups were destroyed as well as the bullet continued on a path of destruction to them before ending in a tin case of napkins.

“Did I fucking stutter?!” the mad voice of Renzio Navarro rang out. “On the ground fuckers!”

Tony glimpsed a pair of shined black shoes stopping at his booth as he fumbled for his gun. The owner crouched down and Tony let out a yelp of pain as the hot nozzle of a gun was pressed hard into his forehead.

Ren sneered in at the man, his grin widening as Tony groaned in pain. “The devil's got you now fucker, out you come.”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut as his brow burned before throwing his hands up in surrender. “Alright,” he stammered out with a hiss of pain.

Ren pulled the gun back slightly before waving Tony out with it.

Tony crawled out slow, contemplating going for his gun again. He was halfway out when Ren seized him by the collar of his shirt without warning and dragged him the rest of the way. He skidded across the black and white tiles, wincing as his palms were cut by the chips of the broken cups.

Ren released him and delivered a kick to his ribcage. He laughed when Tony gave another cry of pain. “If we were playing your game asshole you'd be dead already,” Ren mocked him, “one bullet for every noise of pain right?” He kicked him again before waving his gun around the diner with a warning glower at the patrons.

“No one be a hero, I've been to 'Nam being a hero is bullshit,” Ren snapped at them, “it's propaganda! It means a faster death is all. Sit tight assholes and no one else gets shot.” He turned back to Tony. “On your feet fuckface.”

Tony obeyed, wincing when Ren spun him around to him. He felt the gun press hard into the centre of his chest before Ren's hand pressed into his blazer.

Ren gave Tony a wide smirk as he grasped Tony's gun and plucked it out. “Lookie, lookie ladies and gentlemen,” Ren announced cheerfully, “the man is carrying. Now you all know innocent folks don't have guns so your consciences can go easy now. I'm taking care of a bad fucking man.”

Ren pocketed the gun and spun Tony back round roughly. “Walk,” he ordered.

Tony obeyed. He tried to walk slow but Ren kept shoving him, urging him to move quicker. Tony's eyes searched the patrons pleadingly, hoping one would have pity and call the cops. His eyes went to the door as he wondered if they had been called already. The sweat was trickling down him but it wasn't from the heat, it was a nervous perspiring and he felt his shirt begin to cling to his skin with it. He pondered making a desperate run for it when he reached the doorway but he knew this Navarro brother was one hell of a good shot.

Tony's eyes widened as he stepped outside to the concrete path and he halted, too afraid to take another step. There was a car just in front of him, half mounted onto the kerb at a bad angle. The trunk was open to the world but no one seemed to care.

“Already ready for you,” Ren mocked him.

Tony considered running after all but Ren seized his arm before he could and dragged him to the trunk.

Tony tried to struggle but before he could make an effort Ren's gun collided with his head and he saw stars. Dazed and with a pounding head, he as much slumped into the trunk as he was forced into it. He let out a vain groan of protest just before the trunk slammed shut and he was met with darkness.

At last he heard sirens and he filled with a small prickle of hope.

When the engine started up and he felt the car screeching to life beneath him the hope left him.

 

\----

Vito was calm as he puffed at a cigarette, lazily awaiting Ren to unveil his gift to his sister. They were back in River Row, in the United Dockworkers' Warehouse. It was late at night, just after eleven and apart from them the place was deserted. They were Vito, Lincoln, John, Theresa and Ren. Lincoln had been visiting Vito with John when Ren had called. John had gathered some more intel on the Ensanglante and Lincoln had suggested bringing it to Theresa, partially to see if she could make sense of it but also to see if it might improve her mood.

It had been a week since Vito and Lincoln had taken a high Theresa from Irish Pointe. Dr. Bruno had been as good as his word and saved her life but the experience hadn't tempered her any. She had gone from sullen to silent save from way she vomited up the affects of a denied addiction. Vito had suggested bringing Anna to her again but it had been half-hearted, he didn't really care to have two nutcases to deal with.

There was a single car in the warehouse- Ren's and save for a few standing lights the place was in darkness. John and Vito had their faces illuminated in the gloom by the faint orange glow of their cigarettes. John's grin was ghoulish in the faint light of the embers whilst Vito's expression was grim.

Lincoln stood to one side, eyeing Ren and his car with unease. He knew the gift wasn't going to be good and he didn't want to see it. Yet when Ren had called he had felt compelled to come along for the ride. Vito had looked like he wanted to deny Lincoln and John the trip but he didn't protest when Lincoln had reminded him sternly that a favour was owed. Vito had gotten to savour in Tommy's demise, Cassandra and Burke hadn't. The pair were already suspicious, everyone knew Tommy Marcano had vanished and even Burke wasn't too slow to start asking Lincoln if it was connected to the Navarro mess. Lincoln didn't know how to tell them that it was a heat of the moment thing, a debt owed to Theresa for saving his life once and that it had nothing to do with their politics. He knew Cassandra and Burke wouldn't believe it, that they already felt he favoured Vito on some level. Hell Theresa was part of Vito's group so by helping her Lincoln was helping Vito's side and Vito's cause. He knew how it looked but he still hadn't made the call to Cassandra or Burke, he had kept Tommy's death a family matter, an Italian family matter.

“The suspense is killing me here,” John joked as he looked across at Ren.

Ren's white shirt was spattered with blood as was his face, fresh droplets judging from they slowly trickled down his cheeks and glinted on his nose. He looked over to his stoic sister and gave her a wide smile. “This is for you,” he said.

Finally, Ren opened the trunk of his car to reveal the battered form of Tony Moreau.

Lincoln and John didn't recognise him. John frowned in disappointment as he breathed out a puff of wispy, white smoke. “Is that it?” he queried scornfully.

Theresa stepped forward, each step slow and letting out a clacking echo in the warehouse as she let the heels of her boots smack hard off the wooden floor. She stopped a couple of feet from the car and looked down with a cold curiosity at its contents.

“She's got a broken arm fuckface,” Ren addressed Tony calmly, “which is why I had to rough you up, even the odds a little.” Ren turned another warm smile on his sister.

Lincoln found the effect chilling. Ren looked like he was offering his sister a kitten not a bloody and beaten man in the trunk of his car.

“Go ahead Tess,” Ren addressed Theresa kindly, “he's all yours. You want a knife?” He nodded as he reached into his inner jacket pocket and plucked out a large blade.

“Christ,” Vito grumbled as he flicked ash off his cigarette.

“Is that necessary?” Lincoln queried, more curious than concerned.

Ren held the blade out to his sister. “You take it kiddo, you only need the one hand. He's not gonna hurt you again, I broke his bones.” His wolfish grin widened and he let out a laugh. “Ah I should've let you hear his screams, that would have been fair. I'm sorry for that kid, Bobby is always saying I've gotta keep you from that shit anyway. Can't let you see too much violence, too much of that in your youth.”

John watched Ren transfixed, when he had first met the man he had been all scowls and Vito joked about him being 'a smiler', yet here he was giving crazy grins every thirty seconds. John recognised the insanity, he had seen it in Vietnam, men snapping under the strain of mindless violence combined with constant fatigue and no relief. Men breaking as they blew up children and women alike or saw their friends blown up by those same deceivingly innocent faces. He recalled that Ren had served over there just like him and Lincoln and he wondered if the Italian-American assassin had snapped over there.

When Theresa didn't reach for the knife, Ren stepped forward and grabbed her hand with his free one and pressed the hilt of the knife into it before clasping her hand tightly in both of his. “If you don't want to do it you don't have to,” he addressed her softly, “but I had to offer you the chance. He made you scream and he left Tommy and you to rot.”

Ren released her hand and stepped back.

Vito considered saying something but then he figured it wasn't his place. If Theresa was a man he wouldn't have even contemplated interfering in her vengeance, why should it be different because she was female? He knew her story, she had killed before in life, she had been stupidly young when committing her first murder and alright it was to protect Lincoln but murder was murder.

Theresa starting to walk again, slow deliberate steps until she was standing as close to the open trunk as she could get. She put Tony in her shadow and gazed down at him with grey eyes full of raging hate.

Tony looked up and his bruising eyes briefly locked with hers. He knew he would not have mercy and he figured he didn't deserve it, he had given her none after all. Still, he opened his mouth to make a plea anyway.

The blade went down swiftly, inelegantly puncturing through flesh as it tore a hole open in Tony's throat. It was a messy blow causing blood to pool out in all directions.

Tony's eyes rolled upwards as he trembled and twitched and gargled. His limbs hummed up and down, caught unwillingly in the death throes of a doomed man.

In that single moment John felt it had been worth his time coming here after all. Theresa's actions might have proved that he was right and she was fucked beyond saving but hell weren't they all? Seeing her kill so effortlessly and heartlessly like that was impressive. Alright it was sloppy too and a little dramatic for his liking but they had the time to spare and a safe location for it.

Theresa released the handle and stepped back, having no desire to quicken his fate. Her expression was blank as she walked away, seemingly death to the sounds of choking behind her. She paused momentarily and her grey gaze darted up to Ren.

“You know why it happened,” she made it a statement rather than a question. “You know how he and Tommy Marcano got us, why Tommy had to die.”

Ren nodded sombrely. “I talked to Tony, I know.”

“I don't,” Lincoln grumbled, more to himself than anyone else.

“Then you should take that knife and stab me too,” Theresa said sombrely.

Ren shook his head. “You're my sister, I wouldn't hurt a hair on your head.”

Theresa shrugged and turned a cool gaze on Lincoln, Vito and John. “Maybe one of you could do it then,” she said coldly. “Purge me of the blood that keeps me sinning despite my best efforts. Slice me up and cut out the rot inside. You know, if Bonnie had known what I was, what I truly am, she might have considered me worthy, isn't that just the irony? Wicked loves wicked, noble blood is wicked blood.”

“Tess that's enough,” Ren said sharply.

“It's never enough Ren, I fuck up and fuck up and I don't seem to learn,” she retorted heatedly. “It was fine when only I was in danger I suppose but now Tommy's dead and he's not coming back. He followed me to the devil's den, I didn't mean to lead him there but I did and the devil's brother caught us on the way back and took us to hell. Tommy's in hell now Ren, I heard him screaming every night.” She shook her head angrily. “I don't even know what I thought I'd get, what I was trying to get, some fatherly love, some shit like that. I knew better, damn it I did, I did.”

“Tess what are you talking about?” Vito queried warily as he stubbed out his spent cigarette beneath his shoe. The aging gangster eyed the young woman warily, suspicious of what she was trying to confess to them. He realised he didn't want to hear it, that for once he wanted to keep the secrets. That maybe if Henry hadn't reached so hard and spilled so much he would still be alive and they could keep pretending. Sometimes secrets were good. Henry could've just kept being the good gangster instead of the rat. Was he even really a rat or had he been set up? Shit Vito didn't know and now he didn't know about Theresa either. Was she a rat too or was she just stuck in a shit situation trying to navigate through it without harming anyone? Vito didn't want the truth, he didn't want to look at her and have to consider killing her.

“Tess I put you through too much tonight,” Ren compelled her to be quiet, “you're stressed and you don't know what you're saying. Come on now, Tommy is avenged, it's done. I'll take care of this body, you get back home to bed.”

Ren looked worried and Lincoln and John knew he had screwed up and that Theresa was about to reward them with the truth they all craved about her, the dark secret her brothers had fought so hard to keep smothered.

Theresa shook her head. “Sleep isn't gonna fix it,” she said bitterly, “I can't dream away being Sal Marcano's bastard child.”

 


End file.
